






















> ^ 



^ kS. di o' 

^ ,,. 0 W<r,<'^ * --• 

^ ,y, O O «/“ . . “X ^ 

t ^ 0 ^ « 

o q5 

> \T- * 

<- <)S C^ ^ 






' O ' . ^ » 


A- ^0 C^ ^ 


ff I “V 


9 <9 


"Kc^ CL' 



. 5 .^ 





V I « 




oNc ^ ^ i>''"' A^ ^ 1 J 0 , X 



'v'^ -0 O ''Ny^ « V 

‘.M*V\,.,%^‘oso’ ^ ... 

V xw V ^ * 0 ^ > or 

^ - z ^'A 


(1 




r s' 


I » B 



ee C^ “ 

^ .c^ Brr 

% °o .# .• 

OQ^ . ° 


.s"" A ’‘vo 

^ a\ V I 8 ^ ® ^ 

-r ^ 

- ■'■^A v*' -''i ■ •>- 

^ '^ > » I 't ^ c 3 e 

«> 




,‘ = «»’ < 4 ^ 

^ « 51 <■ 




V’ ^ * 0 ^ > 




»/• 

✓ •»» ^x 

C^ > <, 

^ ^ jy o <x > 

y '^ '>^0 \v 





I ^ 

•y 

•<^> 










o -,, 


(y A 

<- >. 

■tf i»* 

* \0 o. * 

rvO O » "^Vs^ <r ^ r\ ^ 

sS >*'/'^0 ”*° “ 0 , "''>■ *”’' V ° s ' ••-,%'*=»'“ 

21 
o 

'Kt 

'^-'^ "' 0 ^^ k'^ 4 O 




V -V 


■» c 

, % ' 

' 0 , \ ” ^0 .'O''' S ^ . A 

.0^ C ° ® ^ ^ 

^ <'* ' 1^ 




^ sS^ 

sTo’* %'■.- - 



x0°^ 


- . - ^ .' J 

S » O ;. * 0 N 0 ^ 



<P V 


“ C.*? " 

r .V 

^ ^ V c T 




r 

0 

z 

% 

~9 

0 


p 

^/> 0 


S ^ ^ '*> N ® 


\0 

^ O '^ s ' • ' ' « '% 
A-i>- ^' JR^-' -f. 



^ -fV V^ 

« •*^ r ij- 

* 

N, ^ y* '^llWNSSNs ^ CL'^ 

^ ^ * '*' 0 N 0 ^ ^ ^ 9 ^^* 

■>^ '*■ ■'■ V- o >=> * 


^ / S 

”* ifr « ^ A 




A 

K 




C, 

,* '• 

^ 0 \ ^ , 0 < 

<i ^ "^o ,0^ c ® ^ ^ ^ ^ 


x0°<. 



o5 

y ■^UVW^:^ 5 a ^ 

o ^ <* a' 

,..., <?fe. ‘.KO’ ,# 



,1.0 



x0‘=-^ 














A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Translated from the French 
of Leon de Tinseau. 

By FLORENCE BELKNAP GILMOUR. 

J2mo. Cloth ^ $1.00. 

“ It is skilful in construction, dealing with its 
characters in a wholly natural manner, and abound- 
ing in effective touches of color. The French au- 
thor has conceived a web of circumstances in which 
his lively personages are made to play their parts 
that are ingeniously original in their combination 
and striking in their effect. The translation pos- 
sesses all the life of the original text, and is made 
with a crisp and clean accuracy that leaves little or 
nothing to be supplied .’' — Boston Courier. 


In Quest of the Ideal 


A NOVEL 


TRANSLATED FROM ‘n^E FRENCH OF 

LEON DE^INSEAU 


BY 

Florence Belknap Gilmour 

TRANSLATOR OF “A FORGOTTEN DEBT,” ” IN NORWAY,” 
AND ” THE DAMASCUS ROAD” 



PHILADELPHIA 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

1896 



Copyright, 1896, 

BY 

J. B. Lippincott Company, 


Electrotvped and Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.Ac 


V ^ ^^nAr^TrxA. ^^12^ £hUA iinuJ-, 

^ <?c^uc^s47 A. 

irv7/l <d^ i}eu42\e. c<f^x^<jt^ a^ /TKoI/no /pQ^ 

^ OvC'U<.cc<4/k 'h ^ffVvhji^ (U^ PtUici**^ ^ 

(JilLcJ^tCCa. , Cc44.f< £± ^Ci,^\^Uie7v^(27U-</U. ^ (l/h4JtJ\: 
d<2yi 


£u^4[hJLL ru>l*> J.' 

(JiuU^^^fTn/9 f ^tUcui^Cuy} Ti^CuC , “ 

cjj^ ^e<>u^a£i^a^ ^ 

O^dr (Uuxyie, 

t/mco <t%' %. &.ciu^ ^&oC , u*rt • 

l^'tft*^ 0\^ (iO^ f^4lo ^ €U44r 

Xiv^nAX ifu^^ 


aT jJ2u/} Tuctrn>^>t>duoa^^ 

4u<>^xe<Z£p£*^ 

^ caml^(A6^ 


X'^feieai^ 



V' 


( 

% 

» 

* ' 

% 

* 

V ^ 

V 


• > 


» . 


♦ ' 

r 

\ 


* 



f 








* 




I 

I - 


4 


1 


I 


t 




, I 




« ( 


I 


t 


I 


I 




• In Quest of the Ideal 


CHAPTEE 1. 

My chateau — the chateau of my dreams, I 
mean — is not easy to discover in the solitary val- 
ley which shelters it. Do not imagine, however, 
that it is at the antipodes, beneath the pine-trees 
of Landes, or among the dolmens of a Breton 
desert. Indeed, as soon as October strips the 
poplars that border the Marne of their leaves, 
from its Mansarde-roof at night can be seen the 
tricoloured lights of the Eiffel Tower. 

In a secluded spot, rarely visited, stands the 
dwelling equidistant from the two railroads 
which lead, one to Meaux, the other to Provins. 
In order to find it you must know that it is nestled 
behind a clump of trees, for it is as large, per- 
haps a trifle larger than a notary’s one-story 
house. It has, however, a turret which does its 
best to refiect in the river the few battlements 
which have been preserved, but, alas ! the mirror 
1 * 6 


6 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

is too small. The other end of the dwelling is 
remarkable for its ogive porch, which would be 
majestic did it not provoke a laugh ; it is an en- 
trance which leads — nowhere. It might be com- 
pared to the useless sleeve of an amputated arm. 

In happier times it was used as a gate to the 
Court of Honor, which formed a complete quad- 
rangle. Of these four sides there is but one 
remaining, or rather the half of one, and it is 
this picturesque relic which constitutes my cha- 
teau. How fortunate, was it not, that the troops 
of Henri IV. demolished the rest ! It would now 
be impossible to impoverish oneself in its restora- 
tion, even though one were rich. A few days of 
labor for the tiler to restore the brown tiles, two 
bags of cement to mend the walls, a barrel of 
white lead to repair the shutters and doors, not 
forgetting the five hundred yards of fencing, and 
behold, for some ten years the habitation is ren- 
dered as good as new. You are requested not to 
expect fine views and long perspectives. The ten 
acres of meadow which surround it is as flat as 
your hand, the river is so still that you must 
watch a long time the sleeping foliage above the 
emerald green of its waters in order to discover 
the direction of its current. But what could be 
brighter and more seductive than this charming 
morsel of an old castle, with its ivy, its vdsteria, 
the velvet lawns always fresh, the pigeons strut- 
ting about in its eaves, the business-like grovel- 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


7 


ling* of the foreign ducks, and the sleeping spaniel 
before the porch, from which can he perceived a 
background of a wooded hill ? And the chate- 
laine of my chateau ! — did you at this moment see 
her emerge from the house to gather flowers be- 
neath her parasol and dressed in her fresh pink 
peignoir, you would forget the lack of scenery. 
Alas ! my chateau is not mine. 

On a beautiful September day, two years ago, 
a suh-lieutenant of dragoons in undress uniform 
stopped his horse at the turn of a road before an 
open gate. His cap on the hack of his head, his 
cigar in one corner of his mouth, the handle of 
his whip tucked under his arm, he was studying 
the map which he had taken care to put in his 
pocket. 

“ It is not easy to discover the location,” he 
muttered, “ hut may the devil take me if I have 
not found it. It is strange ; I should have thought 
that a rich fellow would have had more imposing 
surroundings.” 

He refolded his map, and with a word to his 
horse, its hoofs were soon tramping the gravel of 
a carefully-kept avenue. On the threshold of a 
kitchen, amidst shining utensils, was seen the 
divinity of the place, imposing in her spotless 
white apron. 

“ Is this Murier, the residence of Monsieur 
Adrien La Houssaye ?” asked the young man. 


8 TN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Yes, sir. Will you come in ? My master is 
at table.” 

“ Still at table at two o’clock ? Of course, then, 
be has company.” 

“ ]^o, sir ; but he has been hunting, and when 
he is at a hunt ” 

“ Heaven knows when he will return, hey ?” 

A nice-looking valet with napkin in hand ap- 
peared on the top step. He hailed a stable-boy, 
who took charge of the visitor’s horse. The 
officer was at once ushered into the dining- 
room, which opened on the opposite facade. At 
an ebony table, upon which shone some superb 
pieces of silver-ware, a man of about thirty, 
tall, robust, muscular, and slender, was reading 
a sporting journal. The officer entered with 
extended hand. Adrien La Houssaye seemed 
to hesitate. 

“ Of course you do not recognize me,” said the 
visitor ; “ when you saw me last in Brittany I was 
preparing for Saint Cyr. It was at a public 
meeting, and we stared at each other like two 
Kilkenny cats.” 

“ Yes, I do remember it very well. You were 
with your father. And so this is what has become 
of the little Fernand de Louarn in four years ?” 
La Houssaye’s grasp seemed to swallow up the 
delicate, nervous hand of the dragoon. 

“ I hope that you have not breakfasted.” 

“Yes, at mess, and I have had time to ride 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 9 

through Brie * before I discovered Murier and its 
owner — or tenant.” 

“ You were right, I am lord of the manor. 
Then, of course, you are stationed at Meaux, 
near us ?” 

“Yes, for the last three weeks. In paying 
my list of visits to the various ch^telains, I have 
begun with you. I can now make the decla- 
ration which the awe of former days kept silent 
on my lips : I like you. Monsieur La Houssaye. 
Will you permit me to add that I admire 
you ?” 

“-By no means, and furthermore I do not allow 
you to call me monsieur. Do you wish to con- 
vince me that I am an old man ? It is true that 
I am thirty years of age !” 

Instead of laughing Adrien feigned a sigh, but 
added in a serious tone, — 

“ As regards our friendship, that is understood. 
Your father — in past days — overwhelmed me 
with kindnesses.” 

“ My dear La Houssaye,” said the lieutenant, 
“ let us begin by being frank. What took place 
between my father and you ? It is not at Stanislas 
College, neither at Saint Cyr nor Saumur, that 
one learns family history. I realised that there 
was a coldness, but never asked for details, and, 
as you had left the province ” 


* Brie, a small county of France near Paris. 


10 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

‘‘ Electoral coldness, nothing else. My father 
had formerly supported yours in his elections, 
who at that time was a Monarchist. We had a 
thousand workmen employed in our factory in 
Brittany, and were influential in securing votes. 
But there have been many changes. My father 
is dead ; your father, Pierre de Louarn, has be- 
come a ralUL*- I, who never cared for trade, 
have passed the business over to a joint-stock 
company, in order that I may follow my tastes, 
which certainly have no business turn. Be that 
as it may, your father saw me conceding to others 
the influence which I have been able to preserve 
in Brittany. I am not a rallie, and Pierre de 
Louarn not having been happy in his election- 
eering campaign, his resentment has been the 
more bitter. What is he doing ? Where is he, 
and how is it with him ? At heart, you know, I 
regret this semi-quarrel. Politics, as things go, 
ought to unite rather than estrange people, 
whose bodies may be riddled with shot at the 
same time some day.” 

“ That is my opinion ; all the same, it is 
strange that you should remain Boyalist, while 

my father In short, it is he who gave me 

your address, advised me to come and see you, 
and be guided a good deal by you. So the 


* Rallie implies a person who has renounced his original 
political conviction and has gone over to the opposition. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. H 

estrangement is not very deep, I imagine, — cer- 
tainly it is not irremediable.’’ 

And above all,” said Adrien, with that very 
gentle smile which ordinarily accompanies phys- 
ical force, “ it will not extend to the second gen- 
eration. And now what will you drink ? There 
is only water on the table, a mania of mine ; but 
the Murier possesses a good cellar, which is 
always at the disposal of friends.” 

After some overflowing glasses of old Madeira, 
— genuine, oh, gourmets ! — ^Fernand de Louarn 
was invited to visit the habitation, which was fer- 
tile in surprises, for this dwelling, reduced to suit 
a modest income, was manifestly fltted up and 
appointed by a millionaire. This does not mean 
that the pieces of furniture were numerous, or 
that the walls disappeared beneath pictures and 
tapestry. On the contrary, the general aspect 
was cold, and, for French tastes, a little bare. 
Any article that was useless was rare, but the 
smallest object, from the boot-jack in the dress- 
ing-room to the fine cut glass from which the 
young anchorite drank water, was a perfection 
in its kind. As for pictures, in the salon there 
were only the portraits of Adrien’s father and 
mother; but they were the work of Bonnat. 
The piano was an Erard, and the arm-chairs were 
the perfection of comfort. Who does not know 
the salons of some Croesus in which it is impos- 
sible to sit for any length of time without feeling 


12 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


pains in the back ? In the gun-rack there were 
only two guns ; each of them cost sixty guineas 
at Purdie’s, in London. The stable, as simple as 
a barn, contained only three horses, — an incom- 
parable Irish hunter and two ponies, the posses- 
sion of which all the amateurs of the Bois would 
compete for if to-morrow they were put up for 
sale. 

The cook prepared hut one dish when Adrien 
was alone, a frequent occurrence, but the mere 
salmis made by her were poems. The idle 
hours of the good woman were not as many as 
might be supposed, for her orders were to give 
bread to every beggar who knocked at the 
kitchen door and to carry bouillon to the sick 
neighbours, to which were added some silver 
pieces, and if the family became numerous these 
were changed into gold. To-day it is the mis- 
tress of the house herself who performs this duty. 
Fernand observed everything, but said little to 
his host. As he made the tour of the garden, 
which covered an acre, he discovered a statue of 
‘‘ Our Lady of Lourdes,” in a sort of oratory 
formed of bushes of gigantic box. 

“And now,” said he, looking at the owner, 
“ is it by chance that you have become a saint, — 
water on the table, not the smallest photograph 
of a woman in the salon or bedrooms, a Holy 
Virgin within the grove ?” 

“ You canonise men too early, my officer, — ^you 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 13 

must lower your high opinion a little. I do not 
like wine. My hunts, my horse, my travels, and 
my bicycle leave me no time to collect photo- 
graphs of women. As to the statue, that has 
its history, which I will tell you. JSTow, as we are 
going hack to the house, you shall have a good 
arm-chair, and, I trust, a good cigar, which will 
help you to find the story less tedious.” 

This programme carried out. La Houssaye 
took up the thread of conversation. 

“ I am so far from being a saint that, after my 
father’s death, I commenced life by causing the 
death of a man.” 

‘‘ I know it,” said Fernand. “ How I envied 
you at that time ! I was then in my preparatory 
class, and I saw in you the typical hero of 
romance.” 

There was nothing to envy in me, my friend. 
A thrill still goes through me when I remember 
what I experienced in the streets of Hantes when 
I came across the father or mother of this poor 
devil, fool enough to kill himself at the house of 
this miserable creature, who had forsaken him 
for my money. Already at that time I intended 
to give up business, which bored me ; moreover, 
since your great philosophers of to-day consider 
employers as malefactors, I have had quite enough 
of it. After this miserable adventure I hated 
Bretagne, and longed for a taste of Paris life ; 
but having drifted into an idler I was insufierably 
2 


14 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


ennuyL Since a certain shot from a revolver, I 
have experienced when at the side of one of 
those women who serve to distract imbeciles 
slight shivers which are anything but voluptu- 
ous.” 

‘‘You have a woebegone look,” remarked 
Fernand. “ I am sure you would not invite the 
commander’s ghost to have a glass of champagne 
with you.” 

“ Oh, my friend, do not expect to find in me 
the stuff that Don Juan is made of. All the same, 
there is something good to he found in Paris. I 
love music and the theatre, as well as society, for 
a week from time to time. I immediately under- 
stood what I needed. A small house two hours 
from the boulevard, and a pied-di-terre in the city, 
where I could leave a dress suit and white ties, 
which I do not wear much. About this time a 
young man, who had succeeded in running 
through his fortune, was trying to sell the last 
slice, — this small place where I am living. We 
soon came to terms. I accepted his price and the 
condition imposed by himself, of respecting his 
Holy Virgin, which in no wise displeased me.” 

“ That is a peculiar type of young man who 
runs through his fortune and imposes such a 
condition.” 

“Yes, is he not! And I must tell you that 
this prodigal son is a priest, such as we meet but 
seldom, too seldom. His father, a retired captain 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


15 


of the navy, left him with comfortable means. 
He ventured into society, and I fancy he has been 
bitten in the heart by some sorrow. He aban- 
doned everything for the seminary. Besides, he 
has the soul of an apostle. After he had donned 
the cassock he went, at his bishop’s request, to 
found a parish in a country of miscreants at the 
other end of the diocese. He built a church, a 
presbytery, and a school with his money. Out 
of his small fortune there remain some heavy 
debts and the statue, before which his mother 
used to pray for the return of the mariner. You 
see that it is not I who am the saint. During 
your manoeuvres, if you should ever pass La 
Morniere, between Ch^teau-Landon and Souppes, 
go to see the cure, Abbe Esminjeaud. He is one 
of the most interesting men that I know, apart 
from his saintliness. And if he should preach 
do not fail to listen to his sermon ; you will hear 
true eloquence.” 

“ My dear La Houssaye,” said the officer, ‘‘ will 
you allow me to add that my admiration has in- 
creased ? You are either the greatest sage of the 
nineteenth century, or you are a frightful nig- 
gard ; but a niggard does not give such cigars to 
his friends. Had I your fortune — two millions, 
according to report — I would have a chateau, a 
large stable, kennel whippers-in, a train of do- 
mestics, — in one word, everything which encum- 
bers life, even to some debts. How much hap- 


16 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


pier you are ! Who has taught you this great 
philosophy ?” 

‘‘I have looked around me and I have seen 
none hut people who were poor, — that is to say, 
they had no pin-money. Pin-money, my friend, 
is the only thing which renders life worth living, 
for the rest does not count. I have a dozen 
neighbours who overpower me with their luxury. 
I do not feel any the worse for it, as you see. But 
if I should suggest travelling, — which is one of 
my manias, — they would bring forth twenty 
reasons for not budging from their homes. The 
true reason I know well. A loss at cards or at 
races ; a wing to be built to the chateau, or furni- 
ture to be remade ; a little mistress, who is too 
greedy ; a box taken at the opera. But for the 
chateau, the club, the stables, and mademoiselle, 
all these people would be as enchanted as I to 
have a winter in India with the tigers, or a sum- 
mer in ITorway on a good yacht with the salmon. 
And above all they would not fall into this fault, 
so hill of danger in our days, that of exasper- 
ating the poor by a needless display of luxury.” 

That is what my father says,” observed Fer- 
nand de Louarn; “you know that the social 
question is his hobby.” 

“ Oh, I agree with your father on many points. 
How is he getting on with his social question ? 
Hever going to Brittany, I have not seen him for 
a century.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


17 


“ Well,” said the officer, picking up his cap and 
whip, ‘‘ I hope that you will see him ere long. He 
is coming to inspect my quarters. At the bar- 
racks politics are ignored, and I should feel great 
pleasure in seeing your hand once again clasping 
my father’s.” 

“ That will not be a less pleasure for me. 
Moreover, we are going ahead so quickly that 
the perspective of ideas is becoming modified. 
To speak frankly, mine get entangled, and, if 
your father with his Christian Socialism could 
disentangle them, — but, as they say at Leipsic, 
‘ Gaudiamus igitur dum juvenes sumus F What 
day will you breakfast with me? Afterwards 
we will harness the ponies and pay court to my 
neighbour, — ‘ la belle Madame Montgodfroy.’ ” 

“ The banker’s wife ?” 

‘‘And the chatelaine of Saint Urbain. She 
will turn your head, for, as you are a very young 
man, I suppose you are not afraid of Junos of 
forty years.” 

“Oh, I? Juno, Diana, Yenus, all suit me 
provided the goddess be pretty.” 

“ All right. I see you would still be on Mount 
Ida studying the trial of the famous combat if 
you had been in the place of Paris.” 


h 


2 * 


18 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


CHAPTER IL 

Eight days later, as agreed, the two young men 
were again conversing together in the salon of 
Murier, after a breakfast less simple than Adrien 
La Houssaye usually took. Their first reserve 
soon disappeared. The lieutenant’s admiration 
for his friend had in no wise diminished since he 
had known more of him, and nothing is easier 
than to know a man who is always quite ready 
to let his life be seen, in which nothing is hidden, 
and where there is neither pose, ambition, nor 
any serious fault. 

‘‘Well,” said the host, glancing at the clock, 
“ are we ready ?” 

“We are ready,” said young Louarn, smiling. 
“We have drunk my coffee, we have smoked my 
cigar, and we have finished sipping my Chartreuse 
verte. At first your hospitality was a little de- 
pressing, but you see that I have become used to 
it. Swear that you do not despise a guest who 
possesses all the weaknesses of which you are 
ignorant.” 

“You are right, and I am wrong. It is the 
weaknesses of a nation which constitute the 
ground for taxation. If, last year, all our coun- 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 19 

trymen had been compelled to drink clear water 
and had tabooed tobacco, it would have been 
necessary to send the dragoons to their homes, 
which would have deprived Madame Montgod- 
froy of a charming visit.” 

When they were on their way the two friends 
naturally continued to talk of the chatelaine of 
Saint Urbain. 

“ I have noticed,” said Fernand, ‘‘ that she is 
not very popular with my comrades ; they seldom 
go there.” 

“ It is she who seldom invites them. She 
says that officers are too conspicuous. She is a 
clever woman in so far as compromising herself 
is concerned.” 

“ Indeed, at mess when her name is mentioned 
winks are exchanged, but there is no tangible 
story. Now, I assure you that the dragoons’ 
mess-room is the ground par excellence for tan- 
gible stories. ‘ La belle Martha,’ as we call her, 
is considered as being infinitely spirituelle and 
as the best-shaped woman in Paris.” 

“Yes,” said Adrien, “ as much as one can see, 
which, on certain occasions, is a great deal, 
gives one a fine idea of her form. As for her 
mind, I believe it is less substantial than her 
body. But she possesses one quality unknown 
to the Parisians, a quality which never fails to 
procure, even to a simpleton, the reputation of 
being a witty woman. She listens to people. 


20 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


For us, the most spirituelle woman is not the 
best talker, — it is the one who will let us do the 
talking. That is why I like foreigners, who 
evince this politeness, as well as many others.” 

“ But look here ; ‘ la belle Martha’ must have 
some defect, after all ?” 

“ Do you suppose that I pass my time in ob- 
serving her? But, indeed, every one sees that 
she is consumed with the modern evil, — ^the need 
of novelty, the pursuit of ideas.” 

‘‘ Do you see any great harm in it ?” 

‘‘ I see at least a danger. This hungering for 
the unknown in women makes me anxious, be- 
cause they nearly always concrete the idea in the 
man. For them to embrace an idea too often 
means to embrace a man.” 

“ That is good,” said Adrien. ‘‘ What new idea 
could I propose for the ‘belle Martha’ to em- 
brace ?” 

“ Forsooth ! you would be compelled to hunt 
a little. My neighbour is an aristocrat, an Im- 
perialist by birth, being the daughter of Count 
de Eenuzart, an ex-chamberlain. After four or 
five years of starvation due to the misfortunes of 
the dynasty, this young woman, mismated, turned 
Bepublican, after Gambetta had dined several 
times at her house, so it was said. Since this 
illustrious friendship she has retained the habit, 
rather fatiguing for others, of inveighing against 
everything. She railed successively, according 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 21 

to history, against the ‘ Seize Mai,’ against the 
avariciousness of a president, against Panama, 
against the J ews, and each one of these harangues 
coincided with the advent of a new man on the 
scene. Five years ago, when I came to Murier, 
she was in with Boulangism.” 

“ Oh, ho ! the general had — dined ?” 

“ iTot he, but one of his partisans, a shrewd 
fellow who understood how to fish for the dis- 
dained sirens in the watery furrows made by the 
vessel. When the vessel was lost on the rocks 
she forgot politics for the last novelty in art, Wag- 
nerism, impressionism, decadentism, pessimism, 
symbolism, — all the isms known have defiled 
before my eyes, personified either by a composer, 
a painter, a poet, or — a simple humbug. There 
was a ‘ Merovingienne,’ — ^that is to say, a long- 
haired period. l!^’ow prepare yourself to make 
acquaintance with the premature baldness and 
the collectivist ideas of the apostle Thomassin.” 

“ What ! Is collectivism to be found at Mont- 
godfroy’s ? This millionaire harbours the ser- 
pent in his bosom ?” 

“ Oh, rather in the bosom of his wife. But 
he has seen so many animals of all sorts nestled, 
and above all refreshed, that he no longer pays 
attention to this menagerie, — like the father 
whose ofispring raise lizards after being dis- 
gusted with silkworms. On the contrary, there 
is some one who seems to me to sufler, and that 


22 JN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

is my little friend Louise, the daughter of the 
house. She has occasionally a manner of looking 
at her mother that makes one unhappy. By the 
bye, one rarely sees her ; it is such a nuisance to 
talk on the topics of the day before a young 
girl.” 

They entered an avenue bordered by lamp- 
posts, ending at some distance in an irreproach- 
able edifice, but in its correct elegance quite 
commonplace, and resembling too much the 
town-halls of large cities. Alleys white as 
roads were still wet from the hose. A park 
laid out in the form of a square was as carefully 
tended as any public park. It was surprising 
to find the benches empty and not the usual 
gathering of children, nurses, and soldiers. 
The iron plates, to which the water-pipes were 
fixed for the purpose of irrigation, took the place 
of mole-hills on the beautiful lawns. The idea of 
a mole-hill at Saint Urbain ! As well introduce 
a navvy at a garden-party. Broad asphalt side- 
walks extended around the house ; the windows, 
which were of a single pane of glass, displayed 
the heavy silk hangings within. 

It was easy to see that when Honore Montgod- 
froy built this residence a little before the war 
he was inspired by the quite new splendours of 
Parc Monceau and the palaces which surround 
it. Such were the great seigneurs of yore, who, 
on their estates, copied a portion of the palace and 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 23 

park of Versailles. It is easier, by the way, to 
copy Monsieur Haussmann than Louis XIV., and 
risks no danger of disgrace to the Fouquets of 
to-day. May God protect their descendants 
against some rancours less royal ! However, the 
architect of Saint Urhain, a clever man if not a 
genius, had the happy modesty of copying for 
Montgodfroy the celebrated hall of a neighbour- 
ing chateau recently inaugurated by an Imperial 
visit. The enormous room was deserted when 
the two friends entered. The light coming from 
the ceiling showed an amusing variety and col- 
lection of things, for each one of the corners of 
this cathedral of worldly worship, where the 
chimney-piece replaced the choir, was like a 
chapel destined for some special rite. One might 
choose between the musical corner, with its con- 
cert grand piano, or the reading corner, with its 
shelves of books, the table each morning loaded 
with papers and periodicals. There was also the 
corner for games, the Dutch billiard-table with 
its green cloth, even to roulette. Finally, there 
was the cosy corner for conversation, with its 
downy couches and arm-chairs, and the em- 
broidery in its frame, wherein for an entire 
season the figures of an idyllic scene were fading, 
destined, no doubt, like many idyls commenced 
in the same place, to remain only in outline. 
The walls were covered with pictures, — all mod- 
ern, all costly. Some, to tell the truth, made one 


24 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


feel the vertigo of madness ; but from this col- 
lection could be studied the decadence of French 
painting within the last fifty years. As Fernand 
de Louarn repressed an exclamation of horror at 
the sight of certain works of art in this museum, 
his companion said to him in a low voice : 

“ Did I not forewarn you ? Bring your phi- 
losophy to bear, for you will see worse than that 
of other kinds. But is it not amusing to discover 
that the excommunicants of times gone by, the 
Courbets, the Manets, which form the starting- 
point of this gallery, now give the impression of 
being archaic and regular when compared to their 
descendants ? Between ourselves the stream 
runs quickly, and the devil of it is that it is not 
only the daubs which are carried away by the 
tide.’’ 

‘‘ What !” said the dragoon, “ you are a pessi- 
mist? In that I admire you less.” 

“ Oh, it is not my natural state ; but I cannot 
enter the houses of these great lords of wealth 
without trembling. In such places one feels 
better than elsewhere the pressure of high waters, 
which sweep away everything, even great trunks 
of trees, towards the abyss.” 

From a sort of tribune which ran around the 
hall and opened on the apartments of the first 
floor above, a voice, a little dry in its precision, 
was heard, “ Do not be impatient ; I am coming 
down.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 25 

Two minutes later Martha Montgodfroy held 
out her hand without much effusion to her 
“ neighbour,” as she deigned to call him. Fer- 
nand de Louarn, duly presented, bowed, and all 
three seated themselves near the chimney-place 
on solemn-looking arm-chairs of the fourteenth 
century, consecrated to the visits of ceremony. 
The usual conversation in such cases commenced. 
Was the new-comer satisfied with his garrison? 
Was he comfortably lodged ? Did he not appre- 
ciate his proximity to Paris ? Was he fond of 
hunting ? The same questions might have been 
asked of any of the sub-lieutenants at Meaux 
had they been in Fernand de Louarn’s place. 
He submitted, however, to the commonplace 
interview, and with his tranquil Breton eyes 
examined Madame Montgodfroy without expe- 
riencing the agitation which she was accustomed 
to see in very young men in her presence. 

Owing to the excess of femininity which ema- 
nated from her personality, and was perceptible 
in every attitude and in her smallest gesture, 
Martha Montgodfroy was destined to agitate 
many. Hot that there was anything suggestive 
in her way of dressing or in her behaviour. But 
those lines which so eloquently appeal to the 
imagination had been preserved in her, and had 
not fallen into excess, which threatens women in 
their fortieth year. 

And as she seated herself in a fauteuil d la 


26 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Maintenon^ which perfectly suited her tall form, 
no one could have said that she had not re- 
mained a “ grande dame,” every inch a Renu- 
zart in spite of all the Montgodfroys in the world. 
From the tips of her English boots to the high 
collar of her plain tailor gown, there was not 
one point which displeased the eye, neither in 
the discreet folds of her dress nor in the pro- 
portions of her figure, the outlines of which 
could be plainly seen beneath the skirt, nor even 
in her casual pose. While looking at her it was 
impossible to forget that she was said to be the 
best-shaped woman in Paris, and a connoisseur 
would have given the same praise to her dress. 

In revenge, even the flatterers never pre- 
tended that the chatelaine of Saint Urbain was 
pretty. One could think that nature, satisfied 
with her work, did not intend that the face 
should divert the looks from the admiration due 
the rest of the body. But the head was small, 
and those who have observed much know that a 
woman is never ugly when her head is below 
average size. The grey eyes, overshadowed by 
broad eyebrows which threw a warm tint in 
them, never ceased to ask the eternal question 
which the feminine sphinx addresses to mascu- 
line sensuality ; but they posed it coldly, being 
sure, one felt it, of the reply which they will 
make. The mouth, however, was large, mordant, 
with- thin lips, which furnished a supreme argu- 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


27 


ment to men who had been repulsed, that Martha 
Montgodfroy was void of passion. What did 
they know about it ? But let us believe these 
would-be “ feminists” that full lips are the infal- 
lible symptom and necessary accompaniment of 
a voluptuous nature. 

After a few moments the chatelaine seemed anx- 
ious to know why the young dragoon had chosen 
to he presented by Adrien La Houssaye. “ It is 
not that you could have selected a more worthy 
introducer,” she added, quickly, observing a 
smile on her neighbour’s face. “ But the hermit 
of Murier does not ordinarily inconvenience him- 
self for trifles.” 

“Oh, madame,” replied Adrien, “it is not a 
trifle to gratify the desire of a friend, and Fer- 
nand de Louarn is both my friend and com- 
patriot.” 

At the name of Louarn, which at first she had 
heard only indistinctly, “la belle Martha” ap- 
peared suddenly to be roused. 

“ What !” she cried, “ can you he the son of 
the celebrated Christian Socialist ?” 

“ I have never heard my father giving him- 
self that title,” said the young man, flushing. 
“ Christian he is most certainly, which is not 
surprising since he is a Breton, hut the word 
Socialist is complicated, and the term not com- 
plimentary.” 

It was not Madame Montgodfroy’s wish to 


28 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

broach complicated questions in a first interview, 
so she quickly changed the. conversation. 

“ Your father will be charmed to hear that his 
son is chaperoned by the most — reasonable of 
mentors. Murier is quiet, restful, and calming, 
is it not V’ There was a vein of sarcasm in the 
employment of these adjectives, and Adrien re- 
plied, — 

“ 1^0 doubt that is why Lieutenant de Louarn 
was longing to become acquainted with Saint 
Urbain, which has not the reputation of being 
either ‘ quiet, restful, or calming.’ ” 

‘‘ If you please, monsieur,” said the chatelaine, 
turning towards the officer, “ we will admit pro- 
visionally that we are wildly giddy here. For 
the moment Saint Urbain does seem mortally 
ennuyeux, so you are forced to take your friend’s 
word for it ; but we will try to show it you be- 
neath a less gloomy light. Come and dine on 
Sunday; you will meet my uncle, the Marquis 
de Yillegarde, and some of these Parisians such 
as the English term from Saturday-to-Mon- 
dayists, among them my husband. Of course 
the invitation is extended to Monsieur La Hous- 
saye.” 

With a ceremonious bow Adrien accepted. 
Fernand rubbing his ear seemed to refiect. 

“ Indeed, I dare not answer you to-day, ma- 
dame. Every Sunday the officers migrate in a 
body to Paris. Each one wishes to find a sub- 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 29 

stitute, and being a new-comer I am usually a 
substitute. To-morrow I shall have the honour of 
letting you know what fate has reserved for me.’’ 

The visit, rather short, was finished. As the 
young men were about retiring, Madame Mont- 
godfroy said to them, — 

“ If you are not in a hurry make the tour of 
the park in your cart and leave by the forest 
gate. By this means Monsieur de Louarn can 
learn the two roads which lead to Murier.” 

As the dog-cart was rolling through one of 
the side avenues, Fernand said to his com- 
panion, — 

“You seem to be quite at loggerheads with 
the lady of the manor. What has she done to 
you? What have you done to her? or rather 
what have you not done ?” 

“ Well,” answered Adrien, “ at bottom we are 
very good friends. But on the surface we do 
not possess either the same tastes or the same 
ideas, and, as I have a combative disposition, I 
differ in opinion. !N’ow, if you wish to court her, 
here’s a powerful means of seduction indeed, a 
perfect contrast to my own aggressiveness.” 

“ That is possible, but I do not count upon 
courting her ; I do not know why, but the lady 
does not please me. Bid you not hear how she 
termed my father ? I could not refuse her dinner 
to her face, but rest assured that on Sunday the 
colonel will need my services.” 

3 * 


30 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


As the dragoon said these words the horses 
were crossing a bridge over an artificial stream 
which fiowed between banks of rock. At the 
end of the bridge these rocks were raised high 
above the road and formed a rather deep cave, 
which served as a shelter against the sun and the 
rain. It could only be seen from the side of the 
stream when reaching it, and in such a way that 
the young men suddenly found themselves in 
presence of an imposing group gathered therein. 
On a seat formed of reeds a young girl, blonde, 
rosy, and of medium height, bearing in her blue 
eyes the melancholy look of Mignon, was sur- 
rounded by half a dozen village children, who 
seemed to be drinking in her words and hang- 
ing on every gesture. 

Adrien stopped his horses, and, hat in hand, 
without leaving the cart, he said, — 

‘‘ How do you do. Mademoiselle Louise? "We 
have just left your mother, to whom I presented 
my friend de Louarn, and with your permission 
I now present him to you.” 

"Without budging from the seat, Louise re- 
turned the ofiicer’s bow by a gracious inclina- 
tion of the head, in which could be divined some 
intentional reserve but no embarrassment. At 
the same time by a gesture, which was immedi- 
ately obeyed, she ordered her class to stand in 
presence of the two strangers. All this scarcely 
attested to the truth that Louise was only a little 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


31 


girl and contrasted with the semi-paternal tone 
adopted by Adrien in questioning her. 

“ You have a holiday to-day ?” 

Yes, if to make others work is a holiday.’’ 

“ And might one ask what you are teaching 
your pupils ?” 

“ Catechism, monsieur.” 

Oh, that is not very difficult.” 

“ You think so ? That is not my pupils’ opinion, 
nor that of many people of more advanced 
years.” 

“ Well, I will leave you to your class. But we 
will dine together on Sunday. Madame Mont- 
godfroy has invited us.” 

There was an imperceptible lowering of the 
eyelids over the blue eyes, and the cart having 
driven away, the young catechiser resumed her 
task, but she was distrait and forgot to correct 
some monstrous heresies. 

In the mean while Fernand said to his friend, — 

“ What a charming creature ! How old is she ?” 

‘‘I do not know anything about it. Several 
years ago she was fourteen, but I have just 
noticed that she has been allowed to wear long 
dresses. I wonder, having a mother like hers, if 
she will be able to attain her eighteenth year in 
this century.” 

“You do not help her along. You treat her 
quite like a boarding-school miss.” 

“ What would you do ? She still has a govern- 


32 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


ess, and is regularly sent to her room at half-past 
nine, under the pretext that it is impossible to 
talk before children.’’ 

“ Poor little thing ! She does not seem to be 
very happy.” 

“ My friend, when you have seen many Paris- 
ian young girls, you will be able to count those 
who appear to be happy. Consequently, for me 
who observe, society is very lugubrious.” 

“ Oh, do not imagine that the girls in the prov- 
inces are more entertaining,” declared Fernand. 
“ My sister, who cannot he called a Parisian, 
always has the air of going to her own funeral.” 

‘‘ Would you believe that I know Mademoiselle 
de Louarn very little ?” said Adrien. “ When I 
last saw her she was a little girl and I a mere 
stripling. We stopped there. You know between 
our factory at Coueron and your residence at 
Bout-du-Bois there were ten leagues, and no rail- 
road.” 

“ But we passed our winters at l^antes. You 
could have come to see us.” 

“Don’t make any mistake. You date back 
from the crusades, while my grandfather worked 
at the anvil at the arsenal of Lorient. I respect 
the hierarchy of classes.” 

“What a funny idea ! We are no longer in 
Brittany now. You will soon see my father and 
sister. Poor Antoinette, I should like so much 
to have her amused a little. But tell me, is the 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


33 


young girl whom we have just seen an only 
daughter 

“ Entirely so, and a prospective heiress, for to 
the paternal millions will be added the fortune 
of her uncle de Villegarde, who is not married.” 

“ The devil you say !” muttered Fernand, and 
he fell into a silent reverie. 


CHAPTER III. 

When La Houssaye entered the hall of Saint 
Urbain on the following Sunday, the first face 
which met his eyes was that of de Louarn. When 
a word was possible between them, Adrien asked, 
“What has happened? I imagined that your 
colonel would need you. But I suppose that 
heaven’s, or rather ‘ la belle Martha’s,’ grace has 
appealed to you.” 

“ Come, come, none of your sarcasm on youi* 
victim. I know all now, and I am not astonished 
that she is sulky with you. Cruel fellow ! You 
did not care at one time to see that ‘ her neigh- 
bour’ had an opportunity of becoming more than 
a neighbour.” 

“ Oh, I know the legend. I bet that you have 
called on the old Countess de Cramens this week, 
who invented it. She invents one on every in- 
habitant of the country. She must have told 


34 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

you, too, that Montgodfroy pays an annual rev- 
enue to the Anarchists not to be blown up by 
dynamite.’’ 

‘‘ It would be easier to believe the first than 
the second legend. But one thing is quite cer- 
tain, Father Montgodfroy is a very amiable sort ; 
I have already been invited to all of his shooting- 
parties.” 

“ So much the better for you, for they are fine. 
But keep yourself well out of the range of the 
host, for he is not a straight shot. Have you been 
presented to all of this evening’s guests ? Every- 
body is here, I think.” 

“ With the exception of Mademoiselle Louise.” 

“ Oh, she will only come in time to go to din- 
ner. What do you think of Thomassin, who is 
playing the pedant at the side of ‘La belle 
Martha’ ?” 

“ I think that the waistcoat of this fellow would 
be sufficient to bring discredit to the house, in the 
absence of anything else.” 

“ Fortunately, there is a man present who, on 
the other hand, gives credit to the house. Do 
you see the one who is just entering with the 
little Louise ? It is the Marquis de Villegarde ; 
he is a fine type, and I add, that he is my 
type.” ^ 

It might be supposed that it was reciprocal, 
for on perceiving him the marquis came forward 
with outstretched hand. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 35 

“ So you are here, you savage. What good, 
above all, what strong wind has blown you to 
Saint Urbain ?” 

“ One both good and strong, monsieur, as it is 
the wind of friendship, which always drives me 
in your direction, and I beg that you will extend 
a little of yours to my young compatriot, Fernand 
de Louarn, who is a dragoon full of hopes.’’ 

“I congratulate you, lieutenant,” said Ville- 
garde, “ upon being introduced by Adrien. You 
choose your friends well, whereas so many others 
choose theirs badly.” 

These words, especially the last, were uttered 
with one of those quiet voices, well articulated 
and remarkably distinct, which, without being at 
all raised, invariably makes itself heard. The 
personality of the marquis was like his voice, it 
could never pass unnoticed, and was fascinating 
rather than obtrusive. Tall, of still elegant pro- 
portions, his face bore the stamp of high birth. 
His hair almost white, blended with a blonde 
moustache, brushed d la militaire, produced a 
contrast which never fails to he attractive. Fer- 
reol de Villegarde was a charming type of 
French distinction, and possessed in addition the 
rarest of all qualities, — modesty. Some would 
say that this same modesty was simply a cloak 
to hide a proud disdain for the approbation of 
others. 

The gentlemen were offering their arms to the 


36 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


ladies whom they were to take in to dinner. Ma- 
dame Montgodfroy had reserved for herself the 
lieutenant, the only one this evening who could 
not be looked upon as an intimate friend. On the 
right of the host sat the Countess de Cramens, — 
already mentioned, — a country neighbour of small 
means but of considerable malice. She detested 
the Montgodfroys, but was resigned to visit Saint 
Urbain, firstly, for the sake of enjoying the good 
cooking, and secondly, for the possible chance of 
meeting there the husband destined by fate for 
her rather ugly daughter. Mademoiselle de Cra- 
mens, together with the governess and Thomassin, 
— ^the man of the anathematised waistcoat, — sat 
at one end of the table. Opposite were the mar- 
quis and Adrien and the young Louise, who were 
quite happy to be together, and were chatting 
among themselves. 

The conversation was general with the rest of 
the guests, though there was a noticeable coldness 
in its tenor, caused by the unfamiliar face of 
Louarn. 

Since certain disagreeable experiences with 
some of the military, Thomassin himself had 
become very circumspect, and was intent upon 
polishing up his eye-glasses, which had been tar- 
nished by the steam from the soup. For want 
of a better subject, or perhaps through mali- 
ciousness, the dragoon feigned ignorance, and 
questioned “ la belle Martha” in a low voice, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


37 


“ Is Monsieur Thomassin a journalist V’ 

The lady’s magnificent shoulders, well exposed 
this evening, were thrown backward, and her 
bosom swelled as she answered in words borrowed 
from Thomassin himself, — 

“Yes, he is a journalist, like Saint-Beuve. 
He is one of the first critics of the day, and will 
be the master of the future.” 

“ Has he not been a play-writer also ?” 

These wonderfully-speaking shoulders of Ma- 
dame Montgodfroy, eloquent indeed for those who 
could understand their language, evinced plainly 
to the officer that he had failed in tact in referring 
to the dramatic attempts of Thomassin. She 
replied in a slightly nervous voice, — 

“ He committed a great mistake in stooping to 
write plays. The bourgeois, whose sleep is dis- 
turbed by his subversive doctrines, has visited the 
sins of the Socialist on the dramatic author.” 

Evidently anxious to change the conversation, 
the hostess turned to her other guest, Cardot, 
the old stockbroker, leaving the officer in the 
clutches of the ugly girl on his right. 

In the mean while the marquis was asking his 
grandniece, — 

“ Well, will they bring you to Yillegarde this 
year to celebrate Saint Hubert’s * day ? You could 

* Saint Hubert is the patron saint of hunting, and his feast 
on the 3d of November is always celebrated by the opening of 
the hunting season. 


4 


38 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

follow the hounds on horseback, you are such a 
capital rider now.” 

“ Alas, dear uncle, it is not I who can decide 
the matter. You alone will be able to perform 
this miracle.” 

Ferreol knew perfectly well what means to 
employ in order to make Martha Montgodfroy 
bring her daughter to Villegarde for the hunting 
season instead of leaving her behind at Saint 
Urbain. He adored his grandniece, as he had 
adored many women, though in a different way. 
To have her in his house for a whole month, to 
spoil and pet her, was a dream which he cher- 
ished as he had cherished many other dreams 
less innocent. But in order to enjoy his caprice 
he was obliged to pay, and to pay dearly, for 
it, by an invitation to Thomassin, the protege of 
‘‘ la belle Martha,” — and the marquis hesitated. 

Madame Cardot, like all Parisians, had the 
mania of listening to the right when she was 
spoken to on the left. Having caught one word 
of the conversation between uncle and niece, she 
asked, — 

“ Marquis, d propos of Saint Hubert, has sen- 
tence been passed on your unfortunate game- 
keeper ?” 

“ISTot yet,” said Yillegarde, internally wishing 
his neighbour to the devil. “As the poacher 
seems to be recovering, I hope for a favourable 
verdict.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


39 


Thomassin, forgetting that in this house he 
should not take the part of the anti-proprietor, 
plunged ahead like a bull that sees the red flag 
flaunted in his face. 

“ Acquittal would he equivalent to admitting 
that the life of a stag is as valuable as that of a 
man.” 

Patient as a master of the hounds is in duty 
bound to be in these days, Ferreol de Yillegarde 
answered without raising his voice, — 

‘‘ Please bear in mind that after having killed 
my stag the poacher tried to kill my game- 
keeper. The flrst shot having missed its aim, I 
suppose you would not have had him wait for 
the second ?” 

“Inasmuch as you are defending the game- 
keeper will you permit me to defend the poacher?” 
resumed Thomassin. “ I will put myself in his 
place. I am a labourer out of employment. I 
am starving, I and mine, and within reach of 
my hand here is wild game , — res nullius ^ — and it 
promises some square meals. I shoot the ani- 
mal, and for this most natural act you compel 
me to choose between prison and a struggle for 
liberty. Do you think that natural law gives 
you that right ?” 

“ I beg your pardon. Monsieur Thomassin, you 
are not a labourer out of employment, you are a 
loafer. Why do you refuse to work? After- 
wards, why do you shoot at my stag ? Have I 


40 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


shot at your cow ? For you have a cow, and even 
a pig, — the inquest has proven it.’’ 

“ Oh, gently ! I paid for my cow. She has cost 
me two hundred francs, even more, three hun- 
dred francs.” 

‘‘ If you come to that, my stag cost me more 
than two hundred francs. It cost me one thou- 
sand. Would you like to make the calculation ? 
Of the fifteen hundred acres of the forest of 
Villegarde one-third remains unproductive in 
order to protect thirty or forty animals. I have 
six gamekeepers, to whom I am obliged to pay 
high wages in order to make these agree to re- 
ceive your buckshot, should such a contingent 
arise. Finally, I spend my time in indemnifying 
you for your nibbled crops if, peradventure, your 
fields join my forest. I assure you, monsieur, my 
stag is worth several cows like yours, let it be 
said without any ofience to you — or to her.” 

A laugh went around the table. Honore 
Montgodfroy, who had laughed louder than the 
rest, said, in a tone of good humor, — 

“All that is nonsense. There have always 
been stags, poachers, and gamekeepers, and there 
always will be, because it is to every one’s interest. 
Your cow, Monsieur Thomassin, profits no one 
hut yourself. On the contrary, the marquis’s stag 
is a constant source of benefit for at least twenty 
persons; you to begin with, whose wounds we 
have already healed with some sound bank-notes ; 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 41 

the doctor who attended you, the druggist who 
furnished your medicines, your widow, whom we 
should have pensioned supposing you had died. 
Then there are the accused gamekeeper and his 
comrades who protect the stag against you, the 
huntsmen who gallop after it, the merchant who 
sells the horses, the tailor who makes the uni- 
forms and riding habits. There is no end to it. 
And that is why I am not anxious on the Social 
question. To begin with, it has always existed ; 
afterwards its existence is of interest to all, 
principally to those who slander it in order to 
gain some income.” 

Thomassin, it must be acknowledged, had 
the good taste to show due consideration for the 
husband of “ la belle Martha.” He knew how 
to maintain a courteous silence in case of a di- 
vergence of opinions. The hostess, more free 
by right of birth and conquest, objected against 
this conjugal optimism. 

“ You are the only one, mon cher, who would 
speak on the Social question in such a flippant 
way. It is the order of the day : it is invading 
every class.” 

“ That is indisputable,” approved Ferreol. 
‘‘ What particularly strikes me is that society is 
imbued with it, and we see charming women like 
yourself, dear Martha, gradually becoming Social- 
ists. They are rich, they profit by Capital, and 
they side against this Capital in favour of Labour. 


42 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Indeed, that is quite novel, quite original, quite 
inconsistent, — in other words, quite feminine.” 

“ Perhaps that can be explained,” insinuated 
Cardot, with the acrimony of dyspeptics, ‘‘ by ob- 
serving that our friend is surfeited on Capital 
and knows Labour only by sight. It is thus, so 
it is said, that certain women, for some unknown 
poor man, forget the husband who has sur- 
rounded them with luxury.” Scenting a cold 
shiver pass around the table, he added, quickly, 
“Moreover, who here knows anything about 
labour ?” 

“ I,” quietly answered La Houssaye. 

“And it has frightened you,” hinted Thom- 
assin, who was used to the secret thrusts in 
public meetings. The ex-manufacturer looked at 
his aggressor, and without becoming impatient 
said, — 

“ Monsieur Thomassin, perhaps some day you 
will support a strike at Coueron ; ask the work- 
men if my father or I were ever chicken-hearted. 
There is something more than to be frightened 
by people: it is to be disgusted with their in- 
gratitude.” 

Pushing back what remained of his hair, the 
impetuous Thomassin was on the point of charg- 
ing with all his force. By a look the hostess 
held him in check and answered, — 

“ In spite of all that, society is unjust. It com- 
pels some of its members to produce always for 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


43 


the profit of a certain class, who store up as in a 
reservoir the production, in other words, the 
money.” 

“ What an idea !” exclaimed the stock broker. 
“ It is easy to see that you do not follow the buy- 
ing and selling of stocks. The reservoirs called 
great fortunes leak nowadays like old buckets. 
They diminish before the eyes, owing to the 
suppression of birthright, the only practical 
thing the Revolution has accomplished, from its 
point of view. In a century who will be able to 
boast of having a million in his safe ? But, more- 
over, what will this niillion yield ? Ten thou- 
sand francs of income perhaps ! The capital 
will not be worth the bother that it imposes, and 
the labourer who has now his mouth full of this 
word Capital will no longer care for it.” 

Oh, the Jews will always care for it,” sneered 
Thomassin, who deemed a diversion opportune. 

“In a century there will be no longer any 
Jews,” prophesied Countess de Cramens, a rabid 
anti-Semite.” 

“ By Jove ! I hope they will still exist,” pro- 
tested Montgodfroy. “We are assured that the 
end of the Jews is the precursory symptom of 
the end of the world.” 

“ But if you please, dear madame, what will 
you do with these unfortunate people? burn 
them at the stake, perhaps ?” 

“ I wonder what interest it is to you to stand 


44 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

up for them/’ said the countess. ‘‘ For, in fact, 
if there were no Jews the affairs of the self- 
styled Christian bankers would be none the 
worse.” 

“ That remains to be seen. But, as you are 
speaking of interest, I have a serious one that my 
brothers in Israel may be spared. We are told 
that some very good Catholics were shot with an 
arquebuse during Saint Bartholomew. I distrust 
some of these errors more or less voluntary. It 
is all very fine to say that God recognises His 
own; I should not like, for my part, that the 
recognition took place on the top of a pile of 
dry wood — too late to call in the engines.” 

“ Pshaw !” said Ferreol, laughing, “ errors do 
not count ; it would only be, as your wife would 
say, one capitalist the less. What I should like 
to see is the ceremony of the auto-da-fe advised 
by Monsieur Thomassin. In former times the 
crucifix was carried before the son of Judas trem- 
bling within his sulphur shirt. As an interpre- 
tation of the doctrine of the Crucifix it was ob- 
jectionable; as logic it was consistent. But since 
that time you have burned the Crucifix, then why 
should you burn the Jews?” 

“ These people do us an incalculable evil. 
Monsieur le Marquis,” said Thomassin, “and 
you visit them.” 

“ But, cher monsieur^ you also do me harm, and, 
moreover, you wish to do so by your doctrines. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 45 

Yet I dine at the same table with you. It is the 
progress of the century.’’ 

Madame Montgodfroy deemed the moment had 
come to sound a retreat. With an expression of 
severity, she said, — 

“ I do not wish to have religious questions dis- 
cussed before my daughter.” 

iN'aturally, a deathly silence reigned, which 
was broken by La Houssaye after an instant by 
this clever remark : 

“ It would be just the moment to pose the usual 
question when a conversation flags : ‘ Madame, do 
you often go to the theatre ?’ ” 

The hostess deigned to laugh. 

“ Your question is decidedly out of place in 
September,” she said. “ Moreover, I have reached 
the point of profound disgust for theatres, music, 
painting, books, in fact, for everything which is 
done to-day.” 

“ My poor niece,” remarked Ferreol, “ that is 
what happens by being carried away by the odd, 
exotic and new idea. You put vanilla in the 
soup ; you suppress vinegar in the salad in order 
to introduce it in your chocolate cream. Is it any 
wonder if your stomach is a little fatigued ? Fol- 
low my example : cure yourself of Ibsen by going 
to hear Moli^re.” 

With eyes fixed in space, Thomassin scratched 
the scanty hairs which covered his chin, and from 
his mouth fell this oracle : 


46 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


‘‘ Oh, Moliere ! He never understood the 
theatre ; but then in his time the critic had no 
existence.” 

“ The critics,” replied Yillegarde, without being 
upset by this thrust, “ they are to civilization what 
the marble-cutters are to a large city. When you 
see their workshops increase, rest assured that the 
cemetery is not far distant” 

“ The cities are the glory of our Jin de 
declared the chatelaine. 

“Evidently, my dear niece. But allow me 
to say that I prefer Phidias to the marble-cutter 
who chisels a statue of Phidias for the tomb of 
Phidias. And I prefer Bossuet to the man of 
wit, however commendable he may be, who lect- 
ures on the genius of Bossuet.” 

“ I have nothing to say of Phidias,” replied 
Thomassin. “ As to Bossuet, I will not accuse 
him of chiselling tombs, in spite of his funeral 
orations. But he remains for me the abbe 
who had luck, the Seminarist who had suc- 
cess.” 

This was the end. Martha rose, not without 
having approved by an eloquent look of this 
broadness of views. Shortly afterwards they dis- 
persed in the alleys of the park, which were lit 
by electric lamps. Fernand followed, close on 
the heels of Louise. Thomassin was in private 
conversation with the hostess a little apart. Per- 
haps he was giving a last thrust to “ the eagle of 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL, 


47 


Meaux.” However, what most occupied him was 
his cigar, or rather Montgodfroy’s cigar, a pure 
Havana of forty sous. 


CHAPTER IV. 

The next day La Houssaye breakfasted with his 
friend, and naturally they spoke of their last 
evening’s dinner. 

“ If I were curious,” said Adrien, “ I should 
discover why, contrary to your resolution, you 
went to Saint Urbain yesterday. You are mak- 
ing up to the young Louise, or I am greatly mis- 
taken.” 

‘‘ Oh, you know, say the word and I will retire 
sooner than trespass on your ground.” 

“ My ground ? Oh, dear, no, she is a child ; 
and, between ourselves, you are beginning the 
campaign before the melting of the snow.” 

The trial costs nothing. If I waited until she 
was twenty she would be engaged to some one. 
Ho not fancy, however, that I indulge in any 
illusions on my chances. But I have learned it 
is necessary to burn a hundred cartridges to kill 
one enemy.” 

“ I notice that you are not counting solely on 
your career to enrich you.” 

“Well, am I wrong?” 


48 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


1^0 ; but if you wish to be invited to Saint 
Urbain you must not repeat the three faults which 
you have committed.” 

“ Three faults ! Great heavens ! I believed I 
had only committed one in dubbing Thomassin 
a journalist.” 

‘‘ That makes four, then. Firstly, you have 
looked too much at the daughter’s blonde hair. 
Secondly, not once at the mother’s shoulders, and 
gracious knows she showed them to you ! Finally, 
you did not compliment Montgodfroy on his 
electric lamps.” 

“ I might have complimented him on some- 
thing else. Look here, between ourselves, is this 
Montgodfroy an imbecile ?” 

‘‘ 'No ; he is a man who despises his wife, that 
is all. She ought to be on her knees before him, 
for she was as poor as a church rat when he 
married her. He is disgusted with her ingrat- 
itude, and the rest.” 

« Why, then, did he marry her, — for love ?” 

I cannot very well imagine Montgodfroy in 
love. But he had among his patrons the Mar- 
quis de Yillegarde, at that time embarrassed with 
the guardianship of the young Martha, who, re- 
port said, aspired to be something more than his 
ward. Montgodfroy, who was forty years old, 
tired of the vendible pleasures, sought a com- 
panion, — loving, faithful, devoted. The marquis 
proposed his niece.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL, 49 

‘‘A pretty present! !N’o matter, if only lie 
would offer me his grandniece ; it is said that 
hereditary vices may skip a generation.” 

You would not be afraid of making a mesal- 
liance 

“ My friend, I am afraid of but one thing, but 
that is not the falling of the heavens : it is pov- 
erty. An empty stomach causes many halluci- 
nations. Look at my father, — and as for my 
sister, she already begins to frighten me by her 
ideas. By the way, they have arrived ; come and 
see them on Saturday.” 

La Houssaye promised a visit, and returned to 
Murier at a jog-trot, his lungs expanded in a 
fresh breeze, his brain gently occupied with the 
ordinary interests of life, thinking of his sports, 
his horses, a change he contemplated making 
in a few days in order to go duck-shooting in 
Sologne. 

But, the Saturday after, when he returned the 
same road, adieu to this happy tranquillity of 
mind. He was thinking solely of the vision 
which he was bringing away with him, that of a 
superb creature whose hand he had touched, 
whose voice he had heard, as though in a dream. 
How could he have been so audacious as to invite 
her with her father and brother to his house ? 
How could she have accepted ? She had accepted, 
however, with the beautiful smile of a goddess. 
And in three days the grandson of the blacksmith 

c d 6 


50 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL, 


of Lorient was to entertain at his table this 
resplendent daughter of the Crusaders, — Antoi- 
nette de Louarn ! 

The presence of one or of several guests was 
not an unusual event at Mhrier, and occasionally 
there was a wife with her husband or a mother 
with her daughter. Even though the host pre- 
tended to disparage his bachelor hospitality the 
good management of his house was proverbial. 
But he displayed for the benefit of this guest, 
only rich in nobility and beauty, a refinement 
that his millionaire neighbours had never expe- 
rienced. He was clever enough, however, to veil 
his extravagance through force of good taste. 
Ho one would have guessed what he had paid 
for each of the roses brought from Paris that 
morning which filled his dwelling. And Made- 
moiselle de Louarn, who had most innocently 
remarked a few days before that she had never 
tasted Scotch grouse, will always remain in 
ignorance of the price paid for the mere tele- 
grams exchanged with Edinburgh in order to 
procure her this unknown luxury. But above 
all was she still ignorant upon arriving at Murier 
that the thoughts of a man reputed difficult to 
catch had never left her since their meeting at 
Meaux. With quite a royal punctuality this 
unconscious queen, together with her father and 
brother, alighted at noon from the least miserable 
“ growler” that Meaux had been able to furnish. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


51 


She was a tall, statuesque girl of twenty-four, 
possessing an admirable face, a divine figure, and 
wonderful hair, the colour of a chestnut not quite 
ripe. She invariably commanded admiration, 
but many men went their way after having ad- 
mired her, as though kept aloof by doubts. 
After a little study of these deep, magnificent, 
almond-shaped eyes, one might ask if beneath 
the graceful folds of her gown this beautiful 
creature carried a living, palpitating heart. 
When she abandoned herself to her thoughts 
there could be detected in her glance, already 
veiled by bitterness, this secret sadness of never 
being interested in life, which mysteriously gnaws 
the present generation. 

At sight of this room, changed into a parterre 
of roses, there was a sort of inquisitiveness in her 
look which added a brightness to her beauty. 
‘‘ Can this man be in love with me ?” she asked 
herself. But it was only necessary for so com- 
plete a woman to see Adrien’s anxiety, to see him 
watching for a sign of approbation, to under- 
stand everything. She had no longer a doubt. 
It was not the first time that she had noticed in 
regard to herself this love at first sight, which 
excited rather than charmed her. In her greatest 
triumphs she had remained a cloud which shines, 
incapable of kindling itself. 

She had never been rich, and was not ignorant 
that, thanks to the sublime reveries of her father, 


52 


JJV qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


she was poor now ; but she was too well bred to 
show the shadow of astonishment, or even a too 
lively pleasure, in contact with others’ luxury. 
Thus she enjoyed so much the more all the ele- 
gancies of life because the unknown sentiment of 
envy did not spoil her pleasure. Too intelligent 
for coquetry, she treated La Houssaye as a friend 
of her childhood, even at the risk of appearing 
older. In this way she could the better play the 
temporary mistress of the house. The marquis 
sat on her right. Adrien had invited him, fear- 
ing that all alone he might not creditably acquit 
himself of the honors of the house. During the 
first part of breakfast Ferreol showed himself to 
be the fascinating man that he was still, and that 
he always had been, in the presence of a pretty 
woman. 

Suddenly his manner changed. With the re- 
doubtable penetration of a society man and an 
old courtier his eyes read a hidden sufiering be- 
neath the smile on his host’s face. From this 
moment Villegarde understood, or at least sus- 
pected, the truth. Without losing any of his 
charm he exerted it for the benefit of another. 
He paraphrased, so to speak, the honours which 
Adrien heaped on his beautiful guest. He drew 
attention to the studied refinements, counted the 
roses, commented upon the perfection of the 
menu, and compelled the host to relate the story 
pf his grouse. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 53 

“We must not deceive ourselves, mademoi- 
selle,” he finally said. “We are at the house of 
a man unequalled for his great wisdom. He has 
found the secret of happiness, which I condense 
in these words, a large fortune and a small house. 
That is such a relief from the distressing specta- 
cle caused by many small fortunes struggling 
with immense houses. The English, who have 
more droll sayings than we have, perhaps, in spite 
of their reputation, call this the upsetting of the 
laws of equilibrium, a champagne appetite and a 
beer income. A propos of champagne, my friend, 
where the deuce did you get this nectar? I 
must write to-morrow in order that you may find 
it at Yillegarde next month. Oh, I forget that 
you only drink water.” 

Monsieur de Louarn, who had all the trouble 
in the world to prevent the rain from penetrating 
his “ immense house” at Bout-du-Bois, exchanged 
a look of sadness with his daughter, who imme- 
diately became like marble. As though to con- 
sole her father, she said, — 

“ I have never desired a great fortune ; there 
must be some cruelty in walking through life 
surrounded by the envy of others.” 

“Ah, mademoiselle,” replied Ferreol, “that 
is a species of suffering of which you must have 
had a superabundance. One can pass Vanderbilt 
in the street without knowing that he possesses 
millions, consequently without envy. On the 
6 * 


54 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

contrary, how few women can pass you without 
feeling envious ? I am no longer young and do 
not make madrigals. But wealthy men can give 
away part of their fortune, whilst even should you 
wish to share your beauty it remains yours alone.’’ 

Fernand de Louarn added, laughingly, “ In- 
deed, up to now, Thomassin has not insisted that 
those who have hair should share with the bald, 
nor that the plump should enrich the lean with a 
part of their advantages.” 

“ The incurable evil of physical inequality 
demonstrates to us that perfect equality is not the 
intention of the Creator,” observed Pierre de 
Louarn. “ It condemns the doctrine sustained by 
Monsieur Thomassin, who, besides, did not invent 
it.” 

1^0, but he has well developed what many 
others have forgotten,” answered Antoinette. 

Utterly astonished, Adrien exclaimed, “ What ! 
mademoiselle, you know him ?” 

“ Through some of his articles. I often assist 
my father in his work, and that obliges me to 
read a great deal.” 

Well,” said the marquis, with a gentle sigh, 
‘‘ you will see Thomassin at my niece’s house ; 
for I hope you will allow me to open the doors 
of Saint Urhain to you.” 

‘‘I know,” Antoinette answered (she knew 
many things through her brother), that you have 
a most charming grandniece.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 56 

Fernand de Louarn, who had been a little taci- 
turn, suddenly appeared to awaken. 

“ I have a proposition to make. Why not re- 
turn to Meaux by Saint Urbain ? Will you come 
with us, La Houssaye ?” 

The idea met with general satisfaction, and they 
left the table for the garden. When they ap- 
proached the statue, the marquis related its his- 
tory, with panegyrics on the two owners, the past 
and the present. He added, addressing Pierre 
de Louarn, — 

“ I advise you to see the Abbe Esminjeaud, 
who, like you, works to bring together two classes 
somehow at odds at the present hour. But you 
differ in your systems. The abbe, who is both 
my friend and neighbour, does not resort to either 
newspapers, pamphlets, clubs, or lectures.” 

“ But I make use of other means,” said de 
Louarn, becoming animated. “ I call around me 
the great family of labourers. I invite them to 
sit in my well-warmed house, around my lamp. 
My amusements are theirs. I espouse their 
claims. I warn them that they must live by 
work, but that they have the right to their com- 
petency. I promise them the recognition of this 
right, provided they are wise and are Christians.” 

“Well,” replied Ferreol, “my abbe himself 
penetrates into this family, having only in his 
hands the crucifix. On the wooden bench in the 
hut, cold and poor, he seats himself when he is 


66 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


not driven away. He says to these people, ‘ Be- 
hold, I am colder, hungrier, and poorer than you, 
— and I was rich.’ But what does it matter? 
Some day we shall be satisfied, we shall be 
warmed, and together we shall sing the canticles 
of eternal joy, provided we believe in Jesus 
Christ, the God of the poor.” 

Antoinette listened, her large eyes fixed on 
Villegarde with some astonishment. Pierre de 
Louarn asked, satirically, — 

“ Does your abbe make many conversions ?” 

“Hot many, though he has converted me. 
But these men listen without understanding him. 
These words are an unknown tongue, which is 
no longer taught them ; it is Catechism.” 

“ It is still taught at Saint IJrbain,” said Fer- 
nand, “ for I have seen Mademoiselle Montgodfroy 
catechising the village children.” 

“ Yes,” answered Yillegarde, “ she crams half 
a dozen young ones with barley sugar, and they 
keep quiet while they recite the Creed. It is a 
reduction of Christian Socialism, if I am not 
mistaken.” 

“ Perhaps so, but it is the Creed after all,” re- 
plied Pierre, who did not apparently enjoy the 
joke. “You acknowledge yourself that your 
abbe has not succeeded so well.” 

Seeing that the two men were deep in dis- 
cussion, the young dragoon pulled Antoinette’s 
dress, at the same time winking to the host, and 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 57 

all three stole away, leaving the two older men 
to fight it out. La Houssaye, who generally was 
interested in these serious questions, had not 
said a word. Speech returned to him, however, 
when he was alone with Mademoiselle de Louarn 
and her brother. 

“ You will be in Brie for some time ?” he asked 
her. 

“ How can I know, possessing a father so 
mobile as mine ? A telegram may call him this 
very evening to a lecture at Montpellier or Rouen ; 
he invariably accedes. Yaturally I cannot stay 
alone at an officer’s quarters, so I must perforce 
return — to dear Brittany.” 

“It appears to me that you speak of your 
‘ dear Brittany’ with some irony.” 

“ Oh, I am fond enough of my country, but it 
is it which is not fond of me. My father, who 
has visited America, allows me more indepen- 
dence than is tolerated with us. I frighten my 
friends, I may add that, indeed, I frighten myself 
sometimes when I am with them.” 

They had reached the stables. Antoinette 
expressed a wish to see the horses ; with a sigh, 
she added, — 

“ Formerly I used to ride a great deal. My 
father had me follow the hounds. But he has no 
longer the time, and for still more serious reasons, 
he has no longer the horses.” 

“ I have an idea,” said La Houssaye, with an 


58 qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

air of delight. “ You shall hunt at Villegarde 
next month.” 

“ Why not at Marly with Louis XIY. ?” she 
said, shrugging her shoulders slightly. 

But Adrien, without noticing his guest’s chaf- 
fing, forthwith built a diplomatic combination, 
he who had never troubled himself to find any- 
thing else but stags at Villegarde. 

Two hours later the Louarns, the marquis, 
and their host of the morning were entering 
Madame Montgodfroy’s. She, contrary to what 
might have been expected, welcomed Antoinette 
with enthusiasm. It was one of her claims never 
to be jealous of the beauty of others. But above 
all she was entranced to know the already cele- 
brated Christian Socialist. Even Thomassin 
quoted and sometimes approved of him in his 
liberal moods. 

Whilst she was charming Pierre de Louarn in 
showing him a breadth of ideas unlooked for in 
the wife of a banker, the young people, rein- 
forced by the presence of Louise, were chatting 
in a corner of the hall. From the first exchange 
of phrases the young girls pleased each other, or 
to put it more correctly. Mademoiselle Montgod- 
froy submitted easily to the influence exerted on 
very simple and upright souls by more compli- 
cated natures. Fernand and his friend, like 
singers in good voice, were showing themselves 
off to advantage. However, the practised ear of 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL, 


69 


the marquis distinguished a discord in the en- 
semble, a vague dissonance in the quartette. 
These musicians lagged behind. The officer was 
making an effort to keep the attention of Louise, 
who, unconsciously, had only eyes and ears for 
La Houssaye. But his eyes were only for Antoi- 
nette, and the latter, less nervous than the three 
others, free from all preoccupation, moved with 
a broad and easy gait in her triumphant beauty. 
She did not try especially to attract these men ; 
nevertheless, the instinct of a true woman led 
her to the only one of them who could appreciate 
her, — the Marquis de Villegarde. After the visit- 
ors had departed, carrying away an invitation to 
dine the following Sunday, Louise returned to 
her governess. The marquis remained alone 
with his niece, leaning his shoulders on the 
huge chimney-piece, and silently staring at the 
rose window in the ceiling. 

“I have just been taking a youthful plunge,” 
said he after an instant. 

“ Oh, I saw very easily that you admired this 
Brittany Venus. Take care, my handsome uncle, 
you are at the age of folly.” 

“ Kot yet, my dear ; I am only at the age of 
nonsense. But I have profited somewhat by the 
nonsense of others. It is the commencement of 
wisdom. And then there is in her eyes, the most 
beautiful in the world, a little glint of steel, which 
makes one reflect, like the point of a pin clumsily 


60 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

placed in a bodice and which defies indiscreet 
fingers. Finally, her hair is coarse, and her 
wrists and ankles are thick. You must always 
distrust these physical anomalies in blood : they 
may be the precursors of others. Ah, if she but 
had your wrists and ankles !” 

With a curious smile Martha Montgodfroy 
turned her single bracelet, a simple circlet of 
gold, around her marvellous wrist. 

^‘Well,” said she at last, “if she had my 
wrists and ankles, I think you would hunt for a 
second Honore Montgodfroy in order to make 
him a gift.’’ 

“But, ma 'petite^ if I had married you we 
should have been at sword’s points fifteen years 
ago. You detest what I admire in literature, in 
art, in politics. At the first decadent poet, at 
the first landscape painter escaped from Bicetre,* 
at the first Thomassin, whom you would have 
liked to make my intimate friend, you do not 
know what storms the world would have seen.” 

“ You are the one who does not know. Does 
one ever know? Perhaps at this moment I 
should be living between ‘le jeune homme 
pauvre’ of Feuillet’s, the nymphs of Bougue- 
reau, and the Idomhiee of F4nelon. Come, like 
many others you know women — on their worst 
sides. But to return to our guests of a moment 


* Bicetre, the largest lunatic asylum in Paris. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 61 

ago. I have been enchanted with Monsieur de 
Louarn.” 

“I not so much. It is true that the rallUs 
inspire me with a very mediocre sympathy.’^ 

“ But, my hon petit oncle, you were a rallie to 
the Empire ?” 

“I^ot in the present sense of the word. I 
never cared for politics. I was fond of good 
hunting, fine fStes, beautiful women, in a word, 
the court. You did not know this court, this 
empress, the charming women that surrounded 
this adorable woman. What am I saying ? Cer- 
tainly, you knew your mother, who was not the 
least of them. At any rate, I have been faithful 
until the end, until my captivity at Leipsic.” 

Pierre de Louarn served in the war as one 
of Charette’s zouaves.’’ 

‘‘ Egad, and a brave man he is. I wish, my 
dear niece, that there were only men like him to 
be found at your house.” 


CHAPTER V. 

The dinner-party on Sunday, which included 
more guests than usual, disappointed the mis- 
chievous hopes of the marquis, who secretly de- 
sired to see Thomassin and Pierre de Louarn seize 
each other by the throats for the benefit of the 
6 


62 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


spectators. Either because Madame Montgod- 
froy had coached the apostle of collectivism, or be- 
cause he considered any Socialist, even Christian, 
a soldier of his own army, their intercourse was 
civil, and resembled much less a discussion than 
an exchange of ideas. E’evertheless, Ferreol 
with positive playfulness tried more than once 
to foment discord between the champions. He 
was very near attaining it when he questioned 
a blonde widow, pretty and elegant, who was 
known to love pleasure, and who had been in- 
vited to Saint Urbain on his account. 

“And you, madame, are you interested in 
Socialism 

“I? Gracious, no ! I do not comprehend the 
profound theories,” she answered. “ But I admit 
that it seems monstrous to me to see people 
working from morning until night while I do 
nothing. That is the light in which I look at 
Socialism.” 

“ How can you say that you do nothing ?” cried 
Yillegarde. “ I insist that you do more work 
yourself than twenty women of the working 
classes.” 

Thomassin, whose big ears had not lost one 
word of the conversation exchanged around the 
table, courteously protested, — 

“ Twenty, indeed ! Humph ! that is a good 
many.” 

“I should have said fifty,” insisted Ferreol. 


IN QUEST OF TEE IDEAL. 


63 


“For it is a heresy to measure labour only by 
the effort displayed. Labour — let us speak from 
a social point of view — is estimated by the money 
not received, but, on the contrary, spent. The 
working-girl who earns two francs for fifteen 
hours’ labour puts two francs into circulation. 
You, dear madame, enter Yirot’s. Let us sup- 
pose that you remain there only one hour, and 
that you order one single hat at two hundred 
francs. During this hour you have caused the 
same circulation — in other words, you have pro- 
duced the same labour — as one hundred poor 
girls working for one day.” 

“In order to sustain this argument,” replied 
Thomassin, who in no wise enjoyed struggling 
with this supple adversary, “ you would have to 
convince me that this modiste had not deposited 
in the bank one-half of the sum paid by Madame 
Lepin. This half, then, is lost for circulation, and 
it is precisely this half that I claim for the work- 
ing-girls.” 

“A fine advantage for each individual!” ob- 
jected the marquis. “ But, in the mean while, 
let us suppose that Madam Lepin has decided to 
make her own hat, here is Virot forced to dis- 
charge one-half of her girls; the same may be 
said for the dressmaker and linghe. Conse- 
quently, madame, the worst service that you can 
render to social equilibrium is to use your needle ; 
thus you might incur the blame of society. 


64 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


Quiet your conscience : buy all the pretty dresses 
you like, provided you reserve something for 
the poor.” 

Up to this point Pierre de Louarn had listened 
in silence. Carried away by the subject he en- 
tered into the discussion. 

“Monsieur de Yillegarde demonstrates very 
rightly to us the circulation of capital as one of 
the necessary functions of the social body. It is 
like the circulation of the blood through the 
human body : it is the condition of life. But 
Monsieur Thomassin points out the danger: 
capital accumulated by the great producers. 
This is why we preach in favour of uniting the 
individual producers, otherwise called Labour 
Unions.” 

“ Bravo, Monsieur de Louarn !” said the mis- 
tress of the house. “ Progress owes you a crown.” 

“ Oh, well,” said the little widow, “ I distrust 
this progress. Bouffs work-women formed into 
a union would give me the horrors. For want of 
ready money they would only have the materials 
to be found everywhere else. And, to cap the 
climax, I should receive my bill every month.” 

“ Yes, assuredly,” said Thomassin, as he shook 
his bald head ; “ so, while these unions furnish the 
labour, it is indispensable that Capital should 
furnish the funds. Madame Lepin herself de- 
monstrates it. How are you going to get over 
that, Monsieur le Marquis ?” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


65 


Oh, I am not going to get over it. The ques- 
tion is insoluble. Have you never seen a poor 
man, worn out by extreme old age, consumed by 
disease requiring pernicious remedies? While 
healing his lungs you are destroying his liver. 
You call in the doctor and you pose this same 
question: ‘Doctor, how are you going to get 
over it?’ Your doctor tucks his hat under his 
arm and goes away on tiptoes. ‘ Insoluble 
question, you must put down straw in the street.’ 
And lam of the doctor’s opinion. Monsieur Thom- 
assin, but I make no charge for the consultation. 
Our society is too old, it is dying of four or five 
diseases. I admit that it is not your fault ; only, 
if I put down straw in the streets, your friends 
will eat it.” 

Everybody laughed, except the hostess and 
Thomassin. There was one, however, who was 
prodigiously amused and laughed louder than the 
others ; it was Montgodfroy ; he said, raising his 
glass, — 

“ Messieurs and mesdames, do not let us bury 
Society yet. It is like Villegarde, it advances in 
years without her growing old. It lives in a dif- 
ferent way, it interests itself in other things and 
speaks of them, that is all. My dear Ferreol, you 
are as charming as you were at twenty-five ; you 
are charming in a different way, nothing more ; I 
drink to your eternal youth.” 

Thus was the discussion smothered, or rather 


66 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

drowned, as the glasses of champagne were emp- 
tied. Thomassin, after a discreet hint from “ la 
belle Martha,’’ stood up and courteously saluted 
the marquis, his adversary of a minute ago. It 
was a reconciliation of which he would not have 
boasted to his “ friends,” to whom Ferreol had 
referred so contemptuously. But Madame Mont- 
godfroy willed that Thomassin should be invited 
to Villegarde. This peace-making was still more 
noticeable in the hall where the evening ended, 
as a shower interfered with an adjournment to 
the park. After coffee the guests formed them- 
selves into groups. There was the group of 
serious men from which soon proceeded the 
odorous fumes of the Havanas. Thomassin was 
there, momentarily calmed in his bald apostle- 
ship by this luxury of the Grentile from which 
he profited. There was the coterie of women, 
grouped by themselves around the fireplace, in 
which were blazing the first logs of the season. 
Finally, behind the piano were the young girls 
and the governess. Fernand de Louarn after 
some clever manceuvering was just about to sit 
down beside Louise when his friend drew him 
aside. 

“ Miserable fellow, what are you going to do ? 
Quick, go near the fire.” 

“ But I am not cold,” said the officer. 

“ Hot cold ? you are glacial, — so far, at least, as 
‘ la belle Martha’ is concerned. Hurry up, tell 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


67 


her that she has the most beautiful shoulders in 
the world. Do you imagine that she makes an 
exposition of them for the benefit of two or three 
old cats and for the little Madame Lepin, who, 
moreover, is an exhibitor herself?” 

‘‘ Well, and you ?” 

“ Oh, I do not count, and then I am sure of 
being invited to the hunting-parties of Villegarde, 
while you have to propitiate the benign god- 
dess.” 

Fernand obeyed, and La Houssaye returned 
and seated himself near Antoinette, who appar- 
ently expected him. In a low tone she asked, — 

“ Has Monsieur Thomassin any influence in the 
literary world ?” 

“ Such a noisy critic ought to possess some in- 
fluence. Nevertheless, he has given up a little 
the literary for the political world, where he 
makes still more row.” 

“ Is he a man inclined to help others ?” 

I doubt it, he has too much to do for himself. 
But it would be necessary to be still more Thom- 
assin than he is to refuse you anything. More- 
over, he practises a peculiar system of apostle- 
ship ; it is among the women that he recruits his 
disciples. Between ourselves, his idea is not so 
bad.” 

‘‘ Even in the event of surprising you, I should 
like to have a chat with him. But do not im- 
agine that it is about Socialism.” 


68 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


Adrien got up, very happy to obey. He was 
not jealous of Thomassin, but if he had been, 
his obedience would have been just the same. 
For him. Mademoiselle de Louarn was a creature 
partly superhuman, who had every prerogative, 
even that of making others suffer for her caprices. 
Two minutes later Thomassin was beside her, 
brought by La Houssaye, who would have carried 
him if necessary. Five minutes had hardly 
elapsed before the young girl and the apostle 
were deep in a conversation, seated a little apart. 
Adrien, heroic to the end, had joined the coterie 
of young girls. He did not see the flash of joy 
in Louise’s eyes, any more than he saw the flash 
of disapproval in the eyes of “ la belle Martha.” 

“ You wished to speak with me ?” said Thom- 
assin. “ How could I help being curious to 
know what the daughter of such a father as 
yours thinks ? I do so much admire Pierre de 
Louarn. He has such courage to do what he 
has done, to seek the truth for and against every- 
thing.” 

“ Ah, the truth ; where is it to be found ?” 

“ You ask that, living so near the light.” 

“ This light is so cold ; it throws such hard 
rays on the present, on the future a ray so fatal. 
I am a little afraid. Where are we going? 
When shall we arrive ? Time passes, my father 
is growing old. Many admire him from a dis- 
tance ; nearer, there are old friends who politely 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


69 


turn their backs, or who look at him sadly, but 
in silence. As for me, I am nearly an old maid.” 

Thomassin understood that he was in duty 
bound to find a happy reply. In his voice, tim- 
breless, the lecturer answered gravely, — 

“ If you mean that you have ceased to grow 
beautiful, I can believe it easily ; everything has 
its limits in this world. But you have scarcely 
begun life.” 

“ And already I am so tired. Does not that 
signify to grow old? If only this lassitude 
came after some useful work! But I have 
never done anything. I have only thought, 
thought, thought, having no one to whom I 
could tell these thoughts.” 

Thomassin, who had received some confi- 
dences from women, indeed from some honest 
women, immediately understood ; and, so true is 
it that beauty grants surprising privileges, his 
first impulse was not to run away. 

“ I see,” said he, smiling. “ You have written 
a romance perhaps? You wish me to have it 
published. It is amusing to see oneself for the 
first time in print.” 

Great heavens ! is it, then, so easy to see that 
I am trying to write ?” she said. 

“ No, mademoiselle,” repliedthe master, gently; 

but to-day if you guess at random that a woman 
uses her pen, you run very little danger of a 
mistake. Moreover, I will prove it.” 


70 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


He approached the group formed by Louise 
Montgodfroy, Jeanne de Cramens, and the gov- 
erness. 

“ Mesdemoiselles, we are trying to establish 
some statistics,’’ he asked, maliciously. “ Those 
among you who have a manuscript tucked away 
in your writing-desk will please hold up their 
hands.” 

The governess and Mademoiselle de Cramens 
dared not budge, but betrayed themselves by 
blushing up to their eyes. Louise declared that 
she had no time to write. 

“You see,” continued Thomassin, resuming 
his “out of four subjects three are 

caught, including yourself. Then women only 
write when they are unhappy. So we can con- 
clude that among the young ladies gathered here 
this evening at Saint Urbain Mademoiselle Mont- 
godfroy alone is content with her fate.” 

“But I am contented with mine,” protested 
the proud Antoinette. “ Only, as I have told 
you, I think a great deal and I am surrounded 
by people who think. These can speak, and 
their words like their thoughts never quit those 
distressing subjects, — poverty, privation, hunger, 
and thirst for happiness and justice. I am like 
a clock in continual movement, where the dial 
is wanting, the hammer of which strikes into 
empty space. At such moments I write in order 
to expand my soul a little ; I strive to invent 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 71 

happiness, to create some people who are 
happy.’’ 

“Humph!” said Thomassin, “mere dreams! 
Why not some efficacious action in reality ?” 

“Because I should require the power and 
wisdom of God to give bread, rest, a shade of 
joy to the unhappy beings who are crushed with 
work. And to give them all that without 
making the world worse than it is to-day ! The 
masters of the greatest nations recoil before the 
problem.” 

“Yes,” said Thomassin, assuming his apos- 
tolic air, “ they content themselves, like the mar- 
quis, with laying down straw in the street. And 
yet you side with them. You love authority and 
law because they are the guardians of your 
social pleasures. You respect dogmas because 
they conveniently settle troublesome questions. 
And whilst humanity is tossed about on a bed 
of sorrow, you write novels. Well, give me 
your novel. It shall be published, and you will 
be happy, won’t you ?” 

Mademoiselle de Louarn made a motion of 
revolt and shook her superb head. She replied, — 

“ Why this disdain ? Those who know me a 
little wonder if I shall ever be quite happy. I, 
who know myself best, am sure that I shall not.” 

“ Well, then you belong to us. For as great 
as may be our hope, as rapid as may be the ap- 
proach of light, well do we know, we, the pre- 


72 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

cursors, that the great day will come only to 
lighten our tombs into which we shall descend, 
but never satisfied/’ 

A voice made the two interlocutors turn. 
Madame Montgodfroy, who could no longer re- 
main indifferent to this suspicious ttte-h-ttte, was 
standing beside them. 

^‘What! mademoiselle, you listen to these 
theories without yawning, without recoiling ?” 

“ Oh, madame,” answered Antoinette, “ Mon- 
sieur Thomassin can make some people recoil, 
but yawn : oh, no !” 

It was easy to see that the young girl admired 
the eloquence of her companion, but that she 
admired nothing else in him. Moreover, there 
was a double man in Thomassin, the apostle 
and the sybarite, who frequently struggled to 
pull together. At this moment he had on his 
mask of apostleship, and Martha felt all jealousy 
evaporate. In the same inspired tone, but with- 
out raising his voice, he continued, — 

Mademoiselle de Louarn is a soul, she is one 
of us, for all those whom the social iniquity robs 
of sleep are brothers. What a pity we cannot 
see her often ! She writes ; we should be able 
to help her. I am sure that her heroine is not 
commonplace. Your other young girls always 
tell their own story in their first novel.” 

“ And also in the others,” said Martha; “ that 
is why the first novel of a woman is nearly 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 73 

always her best. She puts into it all the flowers 
of her basket.” 

“ So much the more reason,” replied Thomas- 
sin, “not to let your manuscript slumber, dear 
mademoiselle. Will you send it to-morrow ?” 

“ Do better, come and breakfast. I will send 
the carriage for you, and you can bring the man- 
uscript with you. Monsieur Thomassin, you 
will please make the sacriflce of not returning to 
Paris until the evening.” 

But she added, placing her Angers on her lips, 
“ Be silent, for we are conspiring.” 

“ Ah, a conspiracy ! I ask to be one of you,” 
said Adrien, who approached, seeing the tUe-a-tUe 
broken up. 

Half seriously, half jokingly, Martha replied, — 

“ You are perfectly aware that they conspire 
from morning until night at Saint Urbain. But 
you come too late ; we no longer admit recruits.” 

With these words she walked towards the fire- 
place, and as Thomassin prudently followed her, 
she threw this taunt at him behind her fan : 

“You are like Caro now, you indulge in a 
literary flirtation.” 

Alone with Antoinette, Adrien regarded her 
with so much combined astonishment and un- 
happiness that she could no longer leave him in 
doubt. In him she saw an admiration out of 
the ordinary, and naturally felt flattered by it, 
but, let it be said to her credit that she cared 
D 7 


74 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


not less for the esteem than for the admiration 
of this honest man. Already buoyed up by the 
hope which Thomassin had given her, she said, 
laughingly,— 

“ Do not give full scope to your imagination ; 
you have before you a has-hleu, nothing more, 
and it is a question of publishing my manu- 
script.” 

“ I do not like to see you in the clutches of 
this fellow,” said Adrien. “ Will you grant me 
your confidence ? Before the end of a week a 
newspaper will publish your first sheets.” 

“ Even if you are compelled to start a news- 
paper for the purpose ? What a fine thing it is 
to have a fortune !” she added in a tone of bitter- 
ness. 

‘‘Yes,” replied La Houssaye with downcast 
eyes, “ it ought to be fine, — beneath the feet of a 
woman beloved.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

Martha Montgodfroy possessed a defect 
common in Parisians of mediocre value; she 
displayed to strangers either a disdain for their 
inferiority or, according to her caprice or the 
weather, she became an enthusiastic friend. 

Here is what happened in respect to Madem- 


IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 75 

oiselle de Louarn. At the breakfast, which 
took place as proposed, she discovered that An- 
toinette was a sonl to employ Thomassin’s words. 
The rich chatelaine looked at this young girl 
and saw in her what she herself had been at 
twenty, when all that she needed at that time 
was to find her ideal in life. True, Antoinette’s 
ideal was different, more elevated, better held in 
subjection by conscience, hut above all more 
vague. However, there were the same reflec- 
tions engendered by solitude, the same strug- 
gles against discouragement, the same absence 
of satisfaction, if not already the same rancour 
against life. And more. Mademoiselle de Louarn 
had inherited from her father the restlessness of 
mind which raises unsolvahle problems. She 
ingenuously declared, — 

“But for Christian faith I should float in the 
mist, like the hull of an unfinished vessel, 
launched too soon. It is a frightful misfortune 
to lose one’s mother at fifteen. Better almost 
perhaps never to have known her. The props 
suddenly fall from the craft and it slips. My 
father has not understood me. He has heaped 
the cargo on the poor vessel, mastless and rud- 
derless, and then I am accused of being proud, 
of scorning amusement, and of not being like 
others.” 

In order to pump her, Madame Montgodfroy 
said, — 


76 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


“You should perhaps have married quite 
young.’’ 

Antoinette replied with her invariable frank- 
ness, — 

“I have never been asked by a suitor who 
deserved — even hesitation.” 

“ In the upper classes marriage has no reason 
to exist unless accompanied by a large dot’^ be- 
gan Thomassin. “ In the same way that death, 
without inheritance, is only a physiological phe- 
nomenon, considered quite secondary, for those 
who survive.” 

With a sign Martha motioned him to silence, 
and turned to Mademoiselle de Louarn. 

“ Perhaps you wish that love precede the be- 
trothal. In the provinces one is still at that 
low level.” 

“ Indeed, I am not provincial, I think. Firstly, 
I have made several sojourns in Paris, where I 
have seen society; and, secondly, we live, my 
father and I, in quite an intellectual atmosphere 
which does not savour of the provinces. More- 
over, I have seen how some love-matches end, 
sometimes.” 

“ I fancy that you could see how some begin, 
at least on the side of the lover,” said Mar- 
tha. 

While making this allusion to Adrien’s passion, 
Madame Montgodfroy was watching the face of 
the apostle in the glass. But she did not detect 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


77 


any uneasiness in it. Antoinette’s beauty evi- 
dently did not affect Thomassin. As to the 
young girl, she replied with a smile, — 

‘‘ I am afraid that there is some mistake. Let 
us well understand each other. It is a publisher 
I want and not a husband.” 

Thomassin took a parcel that was reposing 
on the table, and, as the breakfast was over, he 
said, — 

“ Allow me, mademoiselle, to gain some idea 
at least of your work. In an hour you will 
have my opinion.” 

Alone with Antoinette, Madame Montgodfroy 
took a Turkish cigarette and lit it; she then 
posed this question : 

“What do you think of Adrien La Hous- 
saye ?” 

“ I can only reply to you by one word, he is 
an honest man.” 

“ There is something more, dear mademoiselle. 
He is the man whose head you have turned. I 
know him ; he pretends that woman can be sup- 
pressed as a nuisance to existence. He is going 
to pay for his mistake now, and I am too femi- 
nine to regret it. You will allow that he de- 
serves something more than hesitation. He has 
a fine fortune; and then he possesses an inap- 
preciable quality in a husband, — a fine dose of 
ndiveUy 

“But, madame,” answered Antoinette, a little 
7 ^ 


78 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

upset, “ Monsieur La Houssaye has only seen me 
four times.’’ 

“With such philosophers once is enough to 
make them lose their heads. One thing re- 
mains : does he please you ?” 

“ How am I to know ?” 

“Well, my dear child, you must know it. I 
will give you the means. Trust to me. You 
are the neighbour whom I should wish to have 
at Murier. The house is small for a couple, but 
it could be enlarged. Besides, may heaven defend 
you from great chateaux wherein one is lost !” 

Even though Antoinette’s head was sound, 
she forgot a little her manuscript. Madame 
Montgodfroy made her talk on a thousand sub- 
jects, sounding, so to speak, her qualities and 
weaknesses. But the time had come for the 
visitor to return to Meaux, the coup6 was wait- 
ing and Thomassin had not come hack with his 
verdict. At last he appeared. 

“ Mademoiselle,” he said, hunting his words a 
little, “ it is very good, it is even a little too good. 
Your characters are all perfection. It is necessary 
to tarnish them a little. You would understand 
me if we could talk together. But you are just 
leaving.” 

“We will arrange matters so that mademoi- 
selle de Louarn can hear your observations,” 
said Madame Montgodfroy. “It is only post- 
poned.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 79 

‘‘ Oh,” said Antoinette, ‘‘ I am not blind. I 
see very well what you think; I should have 
done better had I tried to make artificial fiowers. 
Adieu to glory !” 

After her departure Thomassin was no longer 
restrained from speaking his opinion. 

‘‘The devil!” he cried, thumping the table. 
“ How astonishing women are with their litera- 
ture! Here is a thinker, a seeker, one would 
say, sometimes a revolter, who cooks up the 
same old love-story which has been used by all 
novelists called honest for the last hundred 
years.” 

“ Sublime doctor of critics, allow me to tell 
you a thing or two. Very often the women who 
are the thinkers, the searchers, the revolters, 
think of hut one thing, seek for one thing, re- 
volt against one thing, — it is the absence of love, 
and love is easy to find — on a blank page.” 

“ With all that, how to break it to this young 
girl that she was never intended to be an author ? 
She will be inconsolable.” 

“ Hot entirely. As a compensation, I have 
just shown her that she was made for a more 
fruitful career, which is to marry La Hous- 
saye.” 

“ Money, money, always money,” said the 
apostle, shrugging his shoulders. 

“ But, mon cher, your special kind of theorists 
speak only of money from morning until night. 


80 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

That proves that money is not to be despised 
after all.’’ 

“ One would think that you wish this mar- 
riage ?” 

“ It would amuse me. It will be droll to see 
this man, impregnable, impeccable, impassive, 
in the hands of Antoinette de Louarn. She will 
shake him up, rest assured. Then I have other 
reasons.” 

‘‘ What ! more mysteries ?” 

“We have no longer any mysteries from each 
other. I suspect that my husband and uncle 
have some secret designs regarding the owner 
of Murier, and I do not intend that my daughter 
should bring one of the greatest fortunes in 
France to this good fellow. On the contrary, 
would not you and I experience a slightly mali- 
cious delight to see the money of the father La 
Houssaye, the sweater of workmen, fall into the 
hands of the daughter of Louarn, the champion 
of the labouring classes ?” 

“ There is an arm of the sea between us and 
Louarn.” 

“Who knows? perhaps there will be but a 
rivulet between his daughter and us. We will 
manage that she shall be invited to the hunts. 
You would not refuse to come, most austere man, 
and we will see some hallalis of more than one 
description.” 

“ Oh,” said Thomassin, “ you debase me to 


IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


81 


the level of your diplomacy, I, who was made to 
fight. I have always thought that a propagator 
of ideas is lost if he gives himself up to a 
woman.” 

Say that without laughing,” said “ la belle 
Martha,” stretching herself in her fauteuil^ her 
hands behind her head, her eyes brilliant with a 
tawny reflection. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Diplomacy is the art of obtaining without 
violence a certain thing that one does not wish 
to give. It is true that the marquis was not 
overjoyed with the idea of galloping after a 
stag in the company of a Collectivist. In fact, 
galloping is a purely metaphorical way of put- 
ting it, for Thomassin had never known the 
horse except in the vulgar relations of this quad- 
ruped with the fiacre. He, himself, hesitated to 
take part in these cynegetic files, which in his 
eyes were the last vestige of the debased people 
of the middle ages. The problem consisted, 
then, of not only obtaining the invitation for 
the apostle, but of making him acccept it. An 
ordinary diplomatist would have paled before 
this complication. 

But there was nothing ordinary in the means 
/ 


82 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

which Martha could employ in regard to Thom- 
assin. She achieved success, first by resorting 
to sarcasm, then by examples drawn from history. 

“ Are you going to scowl now at the ‘ luxury 
of the bourgeois’ ? That is all very well for the 
veterans of the old school. Besides, you are no 
more compromised by my uncle’s stags than 
you are by our pheasants. Do you pose, then, 
for a Sejptembriseur'^ who visits the political 
assemblies with spear in hand ? ITo, you are an 
intelligent apostle, such as were seen in the 
palaces of the Csesars. Bern ember your device, 
* Social revolution germinates in the slums, but it 
is in the hot-beds of wealth that it mustfiourish.’ ” 

Thomassin could not refuse because he had 
culled some very substantial fiowers at Mont- 
godfroy’s expense. There was nothing left now 
but to besiege the marquis, and for such a cam- 
paign allies were not wanting. A half-dozen 
persons hypnotised him by their desire, the 
same intense desire of passing two weeks be- 
neath the same roof without quitting each other, 
under the pretext of hunting at Villegarde. 
Poor marquis ! all these would-be hunters 
thought very little of his admirable pack and 
admirable meets. Adrien, himself, no longer 
cared for them. He saw only Antoinette’s eyes, 
— ^those impenetrable eyes which had become 


* The worst class of assassin during the Eevolution. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


83 


indispensable to him. l!Tever was a piece of 
diplomacy better managed. Not only did Fer- 
r4ol yield, but still more he deemed it necessary 
— a droll idea — ^to excuse himself to La Hous- 
saye, in a way, for his capitulation, considering 
him as the most serious of the party. He had 
come expressly to Murier to see and tell him. 

“ Mon cher, I am greatly embarrassed to make 
up my house-parties. You will be of them all 
naturally: there is no good hunting without 
you. But Louise is dying to come, and I am 
dying to have her, but in order that the little 
one may not be alone I have been asked to in- 
vite Mademoiselle de Louarn, which necessitates 
an invitation to the father and the brother. 
Finally, to crown all, I wager one to a hundred 
you cannot guess what great sportsman my 
niece wishes me to invite.” 

“ Cardot, perhaps,” said Adrien, feigning ig- 
norance. 

“No; Thomassin. That will be a hunting- 
party with a vengeance. Out of ten or twelve 
persons who will crowd my chateau, there will 
be three men capable of remaining in the saddle. 
Now, what sort of a hunt will we have ?” 

“ The first outings of an ^ equipage’ are never 
the best,” observed La Houssaye, mischievously. 
“This first party of amateurs will give us the 
opportunity to exercise both dogs and men.” 

“Yes, but Thomassin? I admit that he is 


84 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


correct as a general, but that does not prevent 
one from knowing his ideas. What will be said 
of me V* 

What could be said ? The Prince of Wales 
has even dined with Gambetta. Kem ember, 
moreover, for your guests this fellow is no 
novelty.” 

“Yes, that is so. When I feel ashamed of 
my weakness, I will think of the Prince of 
Wales. Let it be so, then, for my first party of 
amateurs, and may ‘ Monsieur Saint Hubert ni’ait, 
en fitiL^ ” 

Yillegarde entered his carriage, while Adrien 
mounted his horse and galloped to Meaux. An-, 
toinette de Louarn was alone in the little apart- 
ment which they occupied in the hotel. Her 
father had just gone to Paris, her brother was 
on duty. 

“ Good news !” said La Houssaye, radiantly. 
“You are coming to Yillegarde.” 

“ Perhaps this news is not so delightful as it 
seems to be. I suppose it will be necessary to 
mount a horse,” said the young girl, her cheeks 
fiushing; “and since last year our stable has 
been reduced to one old carriage-horse. It is 
useless to say that I am rusty.” 

“ That is nothing ; you have two weeks be- 
fore you.” 

“ Had I two years, it would be just the same 
thing, seeing I have no horse to mount. It re- 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 85 

mains to be seen if, out of the several hundred 
which are curried at the quarters every morn- 
ing, my brother will be able to provide me with 
one of these useful animals. At any rate, I have 
brought my riding-habit.” 

“ Are you in the least fond of hunting ?” 

“I like it as I like all the pleasures of this 
world, without enthusiasm.” 

“ And might one ask what you do like with 
enthusiasm ?” 

She reflected a moment, and, evidently not 
finding the answer easy, she smiled with an air 
of desolation on the young man, who devoured 
her with his eyes. 

“My silence is unfortunate. You are con- 
vinced now that I have a heart of stone.” 

“ I remember to have seen a fellow once play 
on an instrument made out of flint,” said La 
Houssaye. “ He drew from it charming music. 
Who knows the surprises which a heart of stone 
may furnish ! Your malady passes away some- 
times. I have had it.” 

“And you were cured? The remedy, please, 
the remedy !” 

Adrien had a flne opportunity to reply, but 
in those beautiful eyes he thought he detected a 
sudden flash of cold light, which plunged him 
again into his timidity. 

“ I do not believe that the remedy would act 
as quickly on you as it did on me,” said he, 
8 


86 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

sadly. “What you need is a prolonged treat- 
ment. Let us return to the subject which 
brought me : Will you try one of my horses 

“ A lady’s horse ? You have one, then, in your 
stable ?” 

Adrien detested a lie, but there is no con- 
science so strong, no judge so loyal, but sleeps 
sometimes. He lied bravely, and replied, — 

“It so happens, by chance, that I have one. 
You must mount to-morrow. You must not 
lose a day.” 

“ To-morrow ! it is impossible. My brother 
will not have an instant free.” 

“Well, can I not escort you? Ho not forget 
that I am old friend of your father’s. Besides, 
you are somewhat of an American, as you have 
already said.” 

“Would to heavens we were in America! 
But, alas ! we are in France, where the dirt of 
suspicion immediately sullies the friendship of 
the two sexes.” 

“You have a friendship for me ?” 

“ Certainly,” said Antoinette, “ much.” 

At the sound of this word, “friendship,” 
Adrien, partly happy and partly sad, kissed her 
hand. She continued, — 

“You are not, then, so wise as I thought. The 
proverb says never lend your horse. I add that 
I cannot offer you a kingdom in exchange, as did 
King Richard in a similar situation.” 


m QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 87 

“ I ask no kingdom ; I only wisk to be Master 
of the Horse to your Majesty.” 

From that time he adopted the habit of thus 
styling her when they were talking together. 
He thought the appellation well suited to her 
sovereign beauty. 

Having agreed that Mademoiselle de Louarn 
would ride on the next day hut one, they parted. 
The young man was rather pleased than other- 
wise at this delay, which gave him none too 
much time to select, buy, equip, and take hack 
the “horse which he had by chance in his 
stable.” An hour later he was in Paris. Jump- 
ing into a carriage, he drove straight to a horse- 
dealer, where he knew he could find one of those 
steeds that the serious buyer follows from stall to 
stall, as a connoisseur follows a ITatier or a Greuze 
from collection to collection. 

The bargain was quickly concluded with 
advantageous conditions for the horse-dealer. 
Then Adrien felt satisfied at least as to how 
Mademoiselle de Louarn would be mounted. 
To tell the truth, he felt less easy as to the way 
she would ride. At all events the horse was 
gentle; not too young, capable of keeping his 
head through the hardest country, or of show- 
ing a pretty woman ofi* to advantage in a gentle 
canter through the alleys of the forest, accord- 
ing to the tastes and capacities of the individual. 
Adrien slept in his rooms in Paris. The follow- 


88 


IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


ing day he shipped to his own address by ex- 
press a lady’s saddle made by Beck, the cele- 
brated firm. Then mounted on his purchase, at 
a cautious speed, he made the nine leagues which 
separated him from Murier. 

On the day fij^ed for the trial he was up at 
dawn. At a too early hour, at least so he thought, 
to meet any one, he left his house on the animal 
which he destined for the honour of carrying the 
beautiful Antoinette. IN’o one could have con- 
templated, without laughing, this personage in 
cap and boots seated sideways, the right leg 
thrown over the pommel, the lower part of the 
body draped with a light covering which simu- 
lated a skirt. In that get-up he had just galloped 
across the fields and was gaining the road by 
leaping a ditch near a clump of trees, when he 
perceived a horseman who was watching him as 
motionless as a mounted sentinel. This horseman 
was none other than Yillegarde, also an early 
riser. When Adrien, who at that moment, to 
tell the truth, wished him at the antipodes, was 
within ear-shot, the marquis asked, — 

“ So you have bought Elphin ? Since when ?” 

“ Since yesterday. You recognise him ? What 
an eye you have !” 

‘‘By Jove! It is not difficult to recognise 
him. His like does not run in Brie. Besides, 
he has already hunted at Yillegarde. I still see, 
and you also, the adorable creature whom he 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


89 


carried, one of the hardest riders, one of the 
prettiest women in France. And I could have 
predicted then what afterwards came to pass, — 
imprudence carried too far, the eyes of the hus- 
band opened, a duel, lawsuit, and divorce, and 
the charming sinner disappeared on foot in the 
crowd of our too numerous declasses. Sud- 
denly poor Elphin was put up for sale. Upon 
my honour it upsets me a little even to see him.” 

IS’aturally,” said Adrien, a trifle embarrassed, 

I ought to explain. I must appear rather ridicu- 
lous ” 

‘‘Ah, mon brave^ I have been ridiculous in 
the same way more than once, and I regret those 
happy times. But you are disgracing Elphin by 
trying him. However much Mademoiselle de 
Louarn may be out of practice, she will be able 
to guide him with a silken bridle. For evidently 
it is for her that you are trying the horse.” 

“ Well, yes, for the moment I will lend Elphin 

to But later he will be an addition that I 

much needed in my stables.” 

The two followed at a jog trot along the 
deserted road, the poplars of which had been 
stripped of their sere and yellow leaves and 
were now bathed in dew. 

After a brief reverie, Yillegarde addressed his 
companion, — 

“Do you know what I am thinking about? 
Of the responsibility one incurs in inviting 
8 * 


90 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


people to one’s house. And possibly but for a 
certain invitation which I gave, the animal that 
you are riding might still be in the possession 
of his former mistress. And, perhaps now, 
another invitation will decide the fate of Elphin. 
Let us hope that he may not be a ‘ Jettatore.’ ” 

As Adrien observed a silence, Yillegarde con- 
tinued, — 

“I hope you will allow me to express my 
thoughts. You are one of the men that I am 
fondest of, and had I a wife I might have had a 
son of your age. So this gives me the right to 
sermonise a little : my dear Adrien, I think you 
are going at rather a high rate of speed.” 

“In the matter of an acquisition to my sta- 
bles ?” 

“ Yonsense. Why speak in parables ? Scarcely 
forty-eight hours have elapsed since I told you of 
my intention of inviting Louarn and his daughter 
to my house. The next day you spend, oh, I know 
quite well, three hundred louis in order that this 
beautiful creature shall have one of the most ex- 
perienced hunters in France. And I find you 
this morning putting poor Flphin through a 
regular examination, who, by Jove, does not need 
it. These are things one only does when one 
is madly in love. I repeat it, my friend, you 
are going at too quick a pace. Where will you 
be at this rate after a week spent together in 
riding through my woods ?” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


91 


Who knows ?” replied the young man, with 
a shrug of the shoulders. 

“You are your own master, certainly. Too 
much so, alas ! There is no one to give you ad- 
vice, and it is such a serious question, that of 
marriage. I admit that she is charming; no, 
she is not charming ; rather, she is superb. Such 
women lead you either to heaven or hell, there 
is no middle course. Conclusion: one must 
study, know them, as much as possible, to find 
out what is in their hearts.” 

“ I am trying to find it out,” said Adrien. 

“Yes, you remind me of a man in a fever 
who tries to feel the pulse of one in good health. 
A fine diagnostic ! Slacken your speed ; it is so 
serious. It is my belief that each one of us 
comes into this world destined by God for a 
certain woman. Where is she, this afiinity who 
waits for you ? Is it this rider who will mount 
Elphin ? Or does she live elsewhere, — near you, 
far from you, knowing of your existence or ig- 
norant of it? Will you meet her later — too 
late — unhappy, both of you, condemned to 
suffer, to betray, saying both at the bottom 
of your hearts or crying it aloud, ‘ Alas, it was 
you ” 

Ferreohs voice was deeply moved, as though 
the misfortune he had pictured was not one of 
mere conjecture. A singular gravity weighed 
vaguely on this interview, in which for the first 


92 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

time Adrien had betrayed his love. On leaving 
Monsieur de Yillegarde soon after, which he 
quickly did, he said, — 

“ I count on the most discreet of men not to 
mention this meeting, somewhat odd ’’ 

“ Oh, rest easy,” replied Ferreol, shaking his 
head several times. 

And when his grandniece an hour afterwards 
kissed him, he declared, with a morose air, that 
he had just had a remarkably tiresome ride. 
ITevertheless, for the rest of the day he had a 
luxury of attention and caresses for his young 
relation, at which Madame Montgodfroy showed 
some surprise. 

“ How you spoil the child,” she said. 

“ It is to set an example to Fate, which may 
perhaps spoil her less,” answered Villegarde. 

La Houssaye returned home calmer than he 
had been for two days. The words of the mar- 
quis had strangely touched him. His fever had 
fallen, giving place to a painful lassitude. He 
found himself simply grotesque in his costume 
of a moustached Amazon. A momentary reac- 
tion showed him, in this eagerness to serve Made- 
moiselle de Louarn, how ridiculous he appeared. 
Who could foretell what she would think of a 
service rendered her with a zeal quite worthy 
of a college hoy? Might she not discover in 
it an exaggerated and compromising gallantry ? 
Had the unhappy fellow passed his horse-dealer 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 93 

on the road, nobody could assert that he would 
not have returned poor Elphin. 

But he met only labourers, incapable of ap- 
preciating the merits of this three-quarter Irish 
thoroughbred. After a suitable rest, Elphin was 
conducted to Meaux by a responsible man, and, 
of course, followed by Adrien. 

The flash of pleasure displayed in Antoinette’s 
eyes at the sight of her horse was quite enough 
to cure the poor lover of his morning’s anxiety. 
To tell the truth, the rider was too little accus- 
tomed to high-priced animals to judge Elphin 
at his real value, whereas the more practised 
eye of Fernand recognised at the first glance a 
horse of great value. After admiring him in 
silence, he said, with visible astonishment, — 

“ I did not know that you intended to increase 
your stables.” 

Antoinette feigned not to understand, hut she 
had guessed the whole story. 

An hour later the three friends were galloping 
across country, and when La Houssaye saw the 
fine appearance of his jproUg^e he did not regret 
his money. Elphin was installed at Meaux. 
Every day these three rode out together, which 
considerably improved the progress of Made- 
moiselle de Louarn as a horsewoman, hut did 
not much advance the affairs of Adrien as a 
lover. For him she remained more than ever 
“ Her Majesty.” 


94 IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

In due time the invitation arrived in the form 
of a polite letter to Monsieur de Louarn. Adrien 
remarked this coldness, as he had thought that 
the marquis would have called in person. It 
was decided, however, that their ride on the fol- 
lowing day should be to Saint Urbain, when 
the acceptance would be given. The head of 
the family, who spent several days a week in 
Paris, excused himself from not accompanying 
his son and daughter in their visit. 

Besides, the visit was short. “ La belle Mar- 
tha’’ was alone, her uncle and daughter having 
just gone out for a ride. In the evening, Ma- 
dame Montgodfroy remarked, — 

“ Surely there is one who has no vanity,” 
speaking of Antoinette. Her riding-habit was 
all frayed out at the bottom and looked quite 
threadbare, save where it had been enlarged 
with some new pieces.” 

Honore, who had arrived from Paris for dinner, 
answered, meaningly, — 

“Her riding-habit may have displayed her 
poverty, but it cannot fail to show her form, 
which is better. That girl is a statue.” 

“ Possibly ; but she is not a statue of wealth, 
anyway,” replied Martha, cuttingly. 

She surrendered to others without jealousy 
the regularity of features, but she would not 
allow anyone to make comparisons as regarded 
the ensemble, Honore continued, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


95 


“Well, my dear, you may come to wearing 
frayed-out riding-habits yourself. Louarn has 
swallowed up everything by following what you 
are, — Socialism. You and your friends should 
give him a pension instead of poking fun at the 
worn petticoats of his daughter.” 

“ You have hit it better than you think. We 
are counting upon his daughter’s handling a fine 
income one of these days.” 

“ The day when social iniquity will he over ?” 

“ ITo ; but the day when the statue will become 
Madame La Houssaye,” replied Martha, after 
being sure that none of the servants were within 
ear-shot. 

“ Ah !” said Montgodfroy ; “ that is your idea, 
is it ?” 

“Well, I do have ideas, sometimes.” 

The butler returned, which necessitated the 
conversation taking another turn. But after a 
few words, Ferr4ol, whose eyes had not left his 
grandniece’s face, exclaimed, — 

“Look, Martha; I believe your daughter is 
fainting.” 


CHAPTER YIIL 

One would have to search France a long while 
to find an estate like that of Yillegarde, not that 
the chateau, rebuilt after the revolution, is re- 
markable for its architecture, which is banal, nor 


96 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


for its dimensions, wliicli do not exceed the ordi- 
nary. But it occupies the centre of a forest, 
having the privilege, most rare in these days, of 
being traversed neither by a railroad nor by a 
roadway. If the owner had chosen to surround 
it by a wall, he could have changed into a park 
this irregular oval of five kilometres long by 
three wide, which resembled an island detached 
from the wooded continent of Fontainebleau. 
But the marquis is too wise to raise any obstacle 
against the incursions of any roving or terrified 
stags that stray from the great forest. 

“ They like to come to my grounds,” says this 
keen sportsman. “ The grove is not large, but 
there the animals are undisturbed. Seldom the 
noise of a vehicle, never a report of a gun, no 
pedestrians, for the site has nothing of the pict- 
uresque in it. Moreover, the Parisian bicyclist 
would not find a cafS restaurant there either for 
himself or for his lady.” 

Ho proprietor in France can profess to be “ at 
home” on so extensive an estate. Thus, Ferr^ol, 
at Yillegarde, allows himself the luxury of lead- 
ing the existence of a little monarch. He even 
has his own army — six unmounted and two 
mounted gamekeepers — come every morning to 
receive their orders for the day and night ma- 
noeuvres against poaching, when he is there. At 
times, when he cannot sleep, the marquis calls 
for his cob and reconnoitres to see if the patrols 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


97 


execute promptly and noiselessly their rounds. 
F or, as he constantly asserts, a propos of every- 
thing, the stags must not be disturbed.” 

Thanks to the paternal precautions which sur- 
round them these multiply. They nibble the 
neighbour’s wheat, and the marquis pays for it, 
just as he pays for the rabbits which increase 
without discretion in blissful ignorance of the 
hunter’s shot. The neighbouring proprietors do 
not take the trouble of manuring their lands, for 
it is not the crops which will afford them their 
revenue. But a time comes when the stag is 
disturbed from his tranquillity. On one of the 
first days of ITovember, the pack, the huntsmen, 
the gamekeepers and the whippers-in file into 
the chapel of the chateau. The sound of the 
hunting-horns summons the guests to the loft, 
and the Abbe Esminjeaud, ‘‘my chaplain,” as 
the marquis laughingly calls him, intones with 
his beautiful tenor voice the Mass of Saint 
Hubert. 

After the service the horses are mounted, and 
beneath the great oaks of the preserves may be 
seen the animal which is to serve for the day’s 
sport, bounding away at full speed, as well as 
the bright scarlet coats of the hunters in pursuit. 

As was hitherto the custom, the same ceremony 
was observed on a beautiful ISTovember day in the 
year 1893. Ferreol had followed Adrien’s advice, 
and made up, as he called it, a preliminary house- 

B ^ 9 


98 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


party composed of the personages already known 
to the reader. But to these had been added a 
certain number of friends and neighbours, offi- 
cers from Fontainebleau and Montargis, all of 
whom had come to assist at the mass and to fol- 
low on horseback or in breaks the first stag hunt 
of the season. 

‘^When I carry my whip as Master of the 
Hounds, I expect all hands to obey me,” declared 
the marquis. 

During the first dejeuner enfamille he gave each 
one his orders. 

“ My dear Adrien, I know you to be extremely 
prudent when the safety of a riding-habit is in 
question,” and he winked knowingly in allusion 
to a certain ride on Elphin ; so it is you whom I 
select to watch over the dthut of my grandniece. 
Monsieur de Louarn will, of course, escort his 
sister. You, Martha, can make your own choice 
among your companions for a body-guard. As 
for myself, especially for a first sortie^ I must 
gallop after the hounds.” 

It may well be imagined that these orders were 
not to the liking of more than one of his guests, 
but no one protested. 

The marquis, in his severe hunting costume, 
with his tall figure, his moustache a la militaire^ 
his eyes full of fire, commanded obedience as 
well as admiration. 

Mesdemoiselles,” said he, “ allow me to re- 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 99 

place Diana’s quiver by a more convenient at- 
tribute.” And he presented each of the young 
girls with an elegant poniard in a velvet sheath, 
which they deftly attached to their belts. Ferreol 
then drank to the ladies and to the success of 
the day. 

Three of the invited guests were absent, but 
they were not, in truth, serious sportsmen. 
Montgodfroy was at his bank, Pierre de Louarn 
was presiding at a pilgrimage of workmen at 
Montmartre, while Thomassin pretended to have 
proofs to revise, — perhaps the idea of the mass 
had alarmed him. It was understood, how- 
ever, that these three absentees would arrive by 
an evening train in time for the Saint Hubert 
dinner. 

But the hour had come for hearing the reports 
of the huntsmen. According to the morning’s 
work, they had the choice of several stags. The 
marquis, as a rule, selected, a young one from 
the vagabonds, as he called them. But on this 
day he chose an old royal, and as he offered his 
arm to Mademoiselle de Louarn to escort her to 
the chapel loft, he explained, his reason for this 
decision. “ This is the first time that my little 
Louise follows on a hunter, and we do not want 
to stumble on a wild fellow who might drag us 
as far as the Gorges d’Apjpemont ’^ — so much the 
worse if the run be short. On the threshold of 
the chapel two mounted gamekeepers, hunting- 


100 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


knives in hand, stood like mounted sentinels, 
and six game-keepers on foot bearing the hal- 
berd did the honours. The pack was already 
waiting, massed before the chapel, kept silent 
by the whip of the Master of the Kennels. 

When the marquis had taken his place at his 
jprie-Dieu^ the joyous notes of hunting-horns rang 
out in concert with the baying of the dogs, then 
suddenly perfect silent reigned. 

A young priest stepped forth, robed in his 
sacerdotal vestments, his look full of energy, his 
entire presence irradiated with an aureole of 
mystic happiness. One felt that this bizarre 
assemblage, this altar gleaming with candles, 
these sonorous horns, these howling dogs, had 
no existence for him. All his thoughts were 
concentrated on the coming mystery of the 
Holy Sacrifice. As he turned around, Antoi- 
nette’s eyes sought his, which were not lowered 
but lost. And, contrary to her expectation, she 
prayed during this mass with a fervour which 
she piously regretted that she did not always 
experience. 

At last they started, but not before the host 
himself had inspected the stirrups, bridles, and 
girths of the three ladies’ horses. He said to 
Antoinette, — 

‘‘ Give your horse full rein at fences. He is 
an old stager, and knows what to do when he 
has a woman on his back.” 


IN QUEST OP THE IDEAL. 101 

‘‘ You know him, then the young girl asked, 
astonished. 

“ Yes, mademoiselle,” replied the marquis, 
nodding; ‘^and it is the second time that he 
carries the most beautiful of my guests.” 

Without saying another word he turned away, 
but this dispassionate compliment falling from 
such lips gave Antoinette a pleasure which she 
had not felt at the most ardent declarations of 
others. Her eyes, less calm than usual, seemed to 
follow in the distance the motley mass of the pack 
which arrived at the meet, led by the whippers-in 
and the huntsmen with their glistening horns. 

Suddenly she started, as though awakened 
from a dream, at the voice of Adrien. 

‘‘Well,” said the young man, “have you at 
last found the unknown and longed-for thing 
which is to rouse your enthusiasm, and which 
you were seeking the other day ?” 

“Almost,” she replied, with an enigmatical 
smile. Then, feeling that she was ungrateful, 
she added, — 

“ I am sure that I shall quite feel it after I 
have galloped on my horse after the hounds, and 
it is to you I shall owe this f Me.” 

“ Ah,” murmured the young man, “ what are 
all the fetes in the world to me, compared to that 
which the mere sight of you gives to my eyes ? 
Alas, I am forbidden to escort you. Grant me 
your pity.” 


102 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

She shook her head without speaking, which 
was tantamount to saying that she declined to 
pity him, and so they parted; he, going to join 
Louise Montgodfroy and assist her to mount. 
While doing so, he asked himself, — 

“Why am I not to be pitied, then? What 
does she mean? Is it merely a commonplace 
politeness towards the young debutante whom I 
am escorting, or does this incomparable creature 
encourage me to hope.” 

“Messieurs, you are not entertaining,” said 
“la belle Martha,” who was trotting on the 
other side of her daughter. “ What is the use 
of being young, then ?” 

Fernand de Louarn, who was following with 
Antoinette, answered, — 

“ That is just the question I ask myself twenty 
times a day. These rascally poets try to hum- 
bug us with the delightful insouciance of youth. 
Of course, I am speaking of the troubadours of 
twenty years ago. Those of our times are not 
so stupid. Youth ! why, it is the age 'par excellence 
of care. Since my tenth year I have worked 
like a galley slave. My twenty years have left 
me some atrocious memories ; the examinations 
of Saint Cyr,— a question of life or death ; then 
my rank on leaving the Academy ; then Saumur ; 
then the military stripe, and only at the fourth 
shall I have time to breathe. Then perhaps I 
shall be gay.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 103 

‘‘How would you like to be in our place?” 
asked Antoinette. “ We must remain common 
soldiers all our lives, seeing we are forced to obey 
men and their laws, which they invent.” 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Adrien, “ with some women 
there is no necessity to command. One en- 
deavours to read their wishes in their eyes. 
Mademoiselle,” this to Louise, “ you are forget- 
ting that you are on horseback. Hold your bri- 
dle tighter.” 

With the shadow of a smile the young girl 
followed her mentor’s advice. 

“ I obey,” she said ; “ for I love to obey.” 

In spite of Martha’s reproach, the young peo- 
ple continued taciturn until they came to the 
meet, which fortunately was not far off. There 
they found Ferreol already doing the honours of 
his forest with an inimitable grace, a trifle stiffly 
to the men, but so much the more seductively to 
the women, who one and all doted on him. 
After a few introductions, they started to strike 
the trail, and, shortly after, the hounds sighted 
the stag. The animal did not try to break cover 
from the forest of Villegarde, but only to gain 
on the dogs in an open space freshly cleared of 
trees. The tremendous pace at which they were 
now going was not long in separating the riders 
according to their merits or the quality of their 
mounts. Madame Montgodfroy, a good, though, 
as her uncle said, a “ showy horsewoman/’ re- 


104 


JN QUEST OF THE IDEAL, 


mained among the last, not wishing to overtire her 
daughter. Adrien, therefore, tied by his duties, 
was compelled to swell the number of the prudent 
and wise. Young Louarn and his sister, on the 
contrary, were among the first galloping away at 
a furious rate. But when the stag, soon tired of 
doubling, made for the plain over land cut by 
hushes and streams, the pace became alarming. 

It was then that Elphin showed his mettle. 
The lieutenant, whose charger had not the same 
advantages, soon felt that he could no longer 
keep up with his sister. 

“ Not so fast ! not so fast ! you are going at a 
break-neck pace,” he cried. 

But, either because she did not wish to hear, or 
because Elphin’s blood was up and he would not 
slacken his speed, she continued to gallop at the 
same rate, never losing sight of the tall outline 
of a hunter a quarter of a kilometre ahead, who, 
as usual, was not outrun by anyone. 

The animal, however, had now left the plain, 
crossed the canal, and reached the full slope of 
the quarries which extend from Souppes to 
Ch^teau-Landon. The hounds swam across the 
canal. Eerreol should have continued in a 
straight line in order to reach the lock. When 
he gained the other side of the stream, the sup- 
posed direction, he rode rapidly to the summit 
of a ridge, accessible to a horseman of his skill, 
but which the work of excavating, abandoned 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


105 


to-day, had changed on the opposite slope into a 
terrace almost perpendicular and a dozen metres 
high. 

This place commanded an extensive view, hut 
neither stag nor pack was visible in the distance. 
He listened ; not a sound ; suddenly he caught 
sight of a shepherd, who, from the foot of the 
cliif some hundred yards off, was making signs 
to him. But where was he to find a practicable 
descent without risking an almost certain fall ? 
Skirting the excavation, he finally discovered a 
sort of moraine formed by an accumulation of 
detritus of stones, and by this very dangerous 
and inclined plane he reached the man, who was 
now redoubling his signs. 

As he was on the point of questioning him, an 
infernal uproar, which seemed to come from the 
bowels of the earth, gave him to understand 
what had become of the hunt. 

‘‘ There they are !” cried the man ; “ they have 
jumped pellmell from the place where you stood. 
If you could only have seen them ! I am sure 
that the stag has only three legs to stand on.” 

“Yes; but he has a good pair of antlers,” re- 
plied Yillegarde ; “ my poor hounds are having a 
hard time of it. Will you hold my horse ?” 

He seized his hunting-knife, and in two 
minutes reached the entrance of a large subter- 
raneous cavity, long since abandoned by the 
quarrymen. There, in the uncertain light, he 


106 


IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


saw some forty hounds, whose furious barking 
was dominated at intervals by the lugubrious 
wail of some victim. Ferreol soon caught sight 
of the stag backed against the wall, butting with 
his horns and selling his life dearly. It was not 
without great trouble and positive danger that 
he reached the animal to kill him. 

As he turned round to whip back the pack, a 
female form advanced, poniard in hand. It was 
Antoinette. 

“ Oh ! oh !” cried Ferreol ; you have come to 
die with me ? That is well. By Jove ! little did 
I think this morning that I was arming a verit- 
able Diana. But allow me to keep these hounds 
in check, if we want something left for the quarry. 
Ah, here is my huntsman ; let us leave it to him. 
I am going to call our companions.’’ 

He emerged from the cave, climbed the slope, 
and, standing on the ridge, seized his hunting- 
horn with the noble gesture of a victor. At 
this moment Villegarde would have made a 
charming subject for a painter. With his right 
foot on a stone, his left hand on his hip, while 
the right was raised to place the horn to his lips, 
he inflated his broad chest in order to send forth 
the joyous notes of the Jiallali par terre. Some 
paces behind stood Mademoiselle de Louarn, who 
had followed him, even as she had been follow- 
ing him for an hour, her instinct in some way 
taking the place of her will. In the meadow on 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 107 

the other side of the canal several hunters were 
galloping, and some whippers-in advancing with 
rapid strides, hastening at the call of an all-pow- 
erful master. The young girl, her large eyes no 
longer melancholy, was eagerly drinking in this 
spectacle, the remembrance of which would hence- 
forth never leave her. Suddenly she cried out, — 
“ Great heavens ! you are wounded.’’ 

In fact, a tiny red stream was trickling from 
Ferreol’s left hand. 

“ It is nothing,” he said. “ I did not know that 
I was scratched. One cannot see clearly in that 
cave, and I fear that my bow-wows have been 
much more hurt than their master. What ! you 
are a surgeon, also ? Are you, then, one of those 
women who are alarmed by nothing ?” 

Tearing her handkerchief into strips in order 
to bandage the wound, she replied, — 

“ Every woman at certain moments becomes 
intrepid. Perhaps, had I been there, I might 
have protected you.” 

She spoke with such extraordinary anima- 
tion that this great reader of human hearts 
was struck by it, and doubtless it was not at 
random that he replied, — 

“ You were the first to arrive : that was capi- 
tal. Ah! but what a horse! You would do 
well to thank him who loaned him to you.” 

There was a strange smile on her lips, the 
smile which women have sometimes when they 


108 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


witness tlie ironical recompense awarded by fate 
to certain devotedness. But she was not obliged 
to answer, for several of the hunters now came 
up, among them Fernand de Louarn. Instead 
of complimenting Antoinette, he rebuked her 
sharply. 

You rode like a mad-woman. It is a miracle 
that you are still alive,” said he ; “ you, who are 
generally so cool on horseback.” 

Still smiling, she replied, — 

“Well, scold my horse; he is responsible for 
everything. As for me, I have turned fatalist.” 
And bending her nymph-like form she culled 
a daisy upon which a drop of blood was drying. 

An hour later they were all gathered beneath 
a great oak, for the quarry. Catching sight of 
Adrien, who had remained faithful to his duty in 
escorting Louise, the marquis addressed him gaily. 

“ Poor Crillon ! * you have not hanged your- 
self yet? What a fight, my friend. In the 
history of Villegarde it will be recorded as the 
Jowrnte des Demoiselles.^^ In a few words the 
Master of the Hounds related the prowess of 
Antoinette. There is no need to say that she 


* Crillon was the most devoted companion of Henry IV., 
and had fought with him in nearly all his battles. One day, 
however, Crillon was absent, and the king was forced to sus- 
tain the brunt of the battle alone. Afterwards he wrote to his 
friend Crillon only these simple words : “ G-o and hang your- 
self, brave Crillon ; we have gained the day without you.” 


JN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 109 

had les honneurs du 'pied. She dropped a louis, 
which she had just borrowed from her brother, 
into the huntsman’s cap. 

“My poor boy,” she said, in a low voice, 
“ when shall I be able to repay you ?” 

“ Oh,” replied the young man, gaily, “ I will 
give you credit. You are riding a horse that 
cost six thousand francs.” 

“ Six thousand francs !” 

“ Yes, and a celebrated horse, too. Somebody 
has just told us the history of Elphin, bought 
expressly for you. l^ow that you know it, do 
not kill him. It would be more difficult to re- 
imburse your lover.” 

“ What ! my lover ?” said she, with a singular 
look contracting her eyebrows. At this mo- 
ment Adrien came up. 

“ Will you come and lunch ?” he asked. “ Our 
host forgets nothing. Just look at all these good 
things which are spread out on the grass. After 
such exploits I have no doubt you must have a 
keen appetite. How you rode !” 

“And you,” she answered, “how you lied 
about the lady’s horse which you had by chance 
in your stable ! All the same, I thank you.” 

“ Oh,” replied the young man, “ you must 
understand that I needed a recruit. And it was 
a bargain.” 

Antoinette was not a coquette, and, greatly 
moved with pity for Adrien, she exclaimed, — 

10 


110 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

“ Mon Dim ! what a mistake you made in buy- 
ing this horse which gallops so quickly.” 

At these words she burst into a flood of tears. 
Adrien looked at her dumfounded, incapable 
of understanding. Everybody inquired the rea- 
son of this outburst. 

The marquis, never at a loss in a difficult situa- 
tion, came to the rescue with a smile. 

“ It is the reaction. I would have bet on it. 
You have been too daring; and, besides, you have 
ridden flve leagues at a gallop. I prescribe a 
glass of champagne for you.” 

As he spoke he poured out the wine, taking 
care of her with the grave gentleness of a father. 
And as she was drinking, her eyes still bright 
with suddenly dried tears, Louise cast a pure look, 
ineffably painful in its resigned melancholy, from 
Antoinette’s beautiful face to that of Adrien. 

But no one remarked Louise’s sadness, not 
even Fernand de Louarn, who was talking with 
her, evidently more occupied with himself than 
with anything else. But as the heiress did not 
reply, he suddenly discovered that she was watch- 
ing Antoinette. 

“ You think my sister very stupid, don’t you ?” 
he asked, somewhat vexed. “ But I can assure 
you that you are also very pale.” 

“ It is the flrst time that I was ever present at 
a quarry,” said Mademoiselle Montgodfroy by 
way of explanation. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


Ill 


CHAPTER IX. 

The break despatched to the neighbouring 
station brought back for dinner the three 
Parisians, Pierre de Louarn, Thomassin, and 
Montgodfroy. Two outsiders only were invited 
for this meal, both favourites of the master of 
the house. One was the Abbe Esminjeaud, 
‘‘ the chaplain’’ of Yillegarde, the other Madame 
Lepin, the pretty widow who amused Ferreol as 
the droll doll that she was. Just enough of a 
horsewoman to follow the pack from a comfort- 
able distance, she came from her little chateau 
of Bougligny, to attend all the hunts. She dined 
very often at Yillegarde when the marquis’s niece 
was present, and if one could place any faith in 
the wagging of tongues, she had even dreamed, 
like so many others, of one day occupying the 
chair at the foot of the table. 

Even though Ferreol often declared that he 
spent all his money on his hunting and that he 
and his guests were reduced to crusts, the meals 
at Yillegarde were remarkable for their abun- 
dance and gaiety. At certain stag-dinners in the 
late fall after “ la belle Martha’s” return to Paris, 
the conversation frequently drifted into a Rabe- 
laisian current, which apparently afforded relaxa- 
tion to the exhausted hunters. But this evening 


112 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Ferreol had among his guests a priest and two 
young girls, to say nothing of Thomassin, who 
was a restraint to everyone save to Madame Mont- 
godfroy. So the silent truce of the soup lasted 
longer than usual. The air of Yillegarde did 
not very well agree with Thomassin’s lungs, but 
he determined to make the best of it, and began 
to discuss the literary aspirations of Mademoiselle 
de Louarn, who was seated beside him. The 
young girl, however, allowed him to do all the 
talking, and apparently had forgotten the hopes 
that formerly inflated her mind. Ferreol, to put 
everybody in a good humour, commenced a tirade 
of pleasant jokes on his right hand neighbour, 
which it invariably amused him to do. 

“ Poor Madame Lepin, is what I have heard 
true ; that you have ridden so hard your horse 
is done up 

To everyone’s knowledge the little widow 
trembled with fright at the mere idea of don- 
ning her habit, and she mounted only for the 
sake of being chic. ITever did her hunting ex- 
ploits exceed a canter in the easy alleys at half 
a league behind the hounds. But she was good- 
tempered, and quick-witted enough to reply to 
the chaff of her host. With a toss of her blond 
head, she said, — 

“ Go on talking. You would like to see me 
break my neck, I suppose. No doubt my heirs 
have bribed you in order to second their impa- 


IN qVEST OF THE IDEAL. 113 

tience. Poor people ! bitter surprises await them 
in my dressmaker’s bills.” 

“If it was only a question of surprises, you 
might give them still greater ones. But you 
appear to share the opinion of Saint Paul, who 
points out the state of widowhood as the most 
— desirable there is in the world. Is it not so, 
abbe ?” 

A very boyish humour shone in the priest’s 
eyes, who, absorbed in his thoughts, could not 
have told whether he was eating salmon or cod- 
fish. 

“ That is the way some people understand 
quotations. The fact is that Saint Paul has men- 
tioned widows — with interest. But in what 
species of humanity was this great benefactor of 
mankind not interested ?” 

Pierre de Louarn, who always saw things on 
the serious side, answered gravely, — 

“ That is precisely the argument that I have 
sustained in my last lecture. How quickly he 
would have arranged our social questions, this 
profound genius who has converted kingdoms.” 

Thomassin, out of professional jealousy, no 
doubt, had a severe word for his elder apostle. 

“ I have always thought that Saint Paul found 
some solutions too easily. He put an end to the 
sufferings of the unfortunate by sending them to 
martyrdom.” 

“ And he was ready to follow them, and he 
h .10* 


114 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


did, too/’ gently added the priest, “ That is 
what crowns the simplicity of his method.” 

Montgodfroy, plunged in a salmi of woodcock, 
summed up these opinions while cracking the 
brains. “ Pshaw ! Martyrdom ! Who has not 
gone through that? Everyone in his turn. 
In ancient times the kings and emperors cast the 
Christians to the wild beasts; later on they 
themselves were guillotined, shot, and not always 
canonised. The crucifiers of Calvary had a bad 
time of it, and will have more. As we bankers 
say, the accounts are squared up. I think that 
the time has come for everybody to keep quiet 
and to breathe a little.” 

“It is easy to see that you have just come 
from the Bourse, my dear,” said “la belle 
Martha.” 

“ But, my dear, the Bourse is the greatest 
school of philosophy that we have to-day. For, 
behold, even bombs do not frighten the specu- 
lators in stocks.” 

“Like the Roman Senators who sat in their 
curule chairs awaiting the Gauls,” said the 
marquis. 

“Well,” continued the financier, “what did 
your Gauls gain, those Anarchists of their times ? 
The Romans, that is to say, the bourgeois, re- 
turned to their homes after having whipped 
them, carrying away their wives and daughters, 
and France sprang from them.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


115 


‘‘ Which proves/’ said Ferr^ol, “ that the 
Gauloises in the days of Csesar were already 
charming. Come, gentlemen, let us drink to 
their health and to the Gauloises, still more 
charming, of to-day.” 

“ Mesdames,” added the little widow, ‘‘ I pro- 
pose the health of the Eomans, the fierce hus- 
bands of our grandmothers.” 

So much the more readily since they are 
dead, which always renders a husband adorable,” 
continued the host. 

The Abbe Esminjeaud joined in the general 
laugh, then raising his clear voice, he said, — 

‘‘ In addition to those who married the Gau- 
loises, let us not forget those who have converted 
them. But for Christianity we should not enjoy 
our present civilisation.” 

“ Oh, Monsieur Abbe, beware,” replied 
Thomassin, “ you are thereby responsible for 
the bombs. They are the result of the excess 
of civilisation.” 

Yes, just as the inventor of locomotives is 
responsible for accidents. Are not switchmen 
there for some purpose ? The Social train has 
run ofl* the track on the switch of Atheism.” 

‘‘For goodness’ sake, please let the bombs 
rest !” implored Madame Lepin. “ That is a 
word which ought to be interdicted.” 

Adrien, from the other end of the table, spoke 
out, — 


116 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

“ Dear madame, the interdiction exists with a 
nation better governed than ours. I refer to the 
Turks. Last year I was in Constantinople while 
Paris was being blown up. The papers of the 
Bosphorus mentioned the fact of houses demol- 
ished and people killed. As to the cause, it was 
a mystery. Should the journalist have dared to 
print the word bomb, he would have been im- 
paled. He is not so much as allowed to print 
dynamo because of its resemblance to dynamite. 
Monsieur Thomassin may sneer, but Constanti- 
nople, which does not know the name, up to 
now is fortunate enough not to know the thing 
itself.” 

Thomassin did sneer, in truth, while he pulled 
the yellow hairs of his thin beard. 

‘‘We need no longer seek the remedy, for it 
is found,” said he. “We must turn Mussul- 
mans.” 

“ Or Christians,” suggested Pierre de Louarn. 

Thomassin was on the point of replying. He 
seemed to be warming up, and his “Egeria,” 
fearing that he would take the bit between his 
teeth, said, cutting short his speech, — 

“ Oh, if one could only hope that religion 
would heal the miseries of the people.” 

Antoinette, who sat opposite the priest, saw 
his face transfigured by faith, just as it had been 
that morning in the chapel. In a vibratory voice 
the minister of God said, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 117 

^ 70 , to the end of the world we shall always 
have the starved, the afflicted, and the weak 
among us. Why give false hopes to the unfortu- 
nate? One moment of resignation, then peace 
without tears, without fatigue, without trial 
by the severity of human injustice. Such are 
our promises. They have already consoled those 
Gauls oppressed by their conquerors, whose sons 
we are. What did we not do for them in the 
first centuries ? We have rescued them from the 
barbarians. We defended civilisation, which 
was still wailing in our arms. It suffers at the 
present time, because enfeebled by age ; it looks 
for other defenders. But once more we will save 
it from the barbarians of to-day, and it is this 
very civilisation which will cry for help from us. 
We are ready.’’ 

This prophecy did not please Thomassin, who 
replied, — 

“ The companions of Attila were gorged when 
they retreated before you. The barbarians of 
to-day — I understand that you mean our dear 
working classes — have empty stomachs. I fear 
that their ears will not be slower to open than 
those of the Huns.” 

“ The church was aware long before you of 
the miseries of the people,” replied the priest. 
“ She fed, clad, and took care of entire popula- 
tions in the Middle Ages. She taught even 
soldiers to be beneficent to a degree of self- 


118 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

abnegation. Which of you, oh, philanthropists 
of this century, will enjoy the popularity of a 
Saint Martin ?” 

The apostle decidedly was not ready to accept 
any established glory. With a gesture he sig- 
nified that he wished for himself something 
better in the way of popularity. 

“ I understand that Saint Martin is not your 
man,” said Montgodfroy, sarcastically. “ He 
only gave half of his mantle, — a fine thing to 
do ; but in order to satisfy the modern school he 
would have to cut his very horse in two. Every- 
body would profit by it, the horse especially; 
wouldn’t he. Monsieur Thomassin ?” 

‘‘Will you allow me to say a word ?” asks the 
champion of the modern school. “I am too 
loyal to deny religious philanthropy, but it has 
only one form, — alms-giving, always alms, always 
the abasement of human dignity. Martyrdom 
or beggary, it is the choice which stands out 
before those who listen to you.” 

“It is you and your friends who have im- 
planted this desperate bitterness in their hearts. 
Christ made the poor the creditors of the rich 
long before you sought to have the same law 
voted by your public assemblies. When we, the 
poor, — for I have the honour of being poor, 
monsieur, — when we receive alms, it is only a 
debt that you pay us.” 

“A convenient debt! The bailiflTs do not 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 119 

annoy the lucky debtor,” continued Thomas- 
sin. 

“ How can you say that ? If he is a Christian, 
two relentless bailiffs harass his sleep. One is 
called Conscience ; the other, still more insatia- 
ble, is called Love !” 

Everybody listened to this eloquence, which 
was born of conviction, hut among them no one 
admired the speaker as much as Mademoiselle 
de Louarn. In the midst of a silence, the Mar- 
quis de Villegarde said to him, smiling, — 

‘‘ My poor friend, you have paid for your con- 
victions, for these two bailiffs in question have 
made you sleep on straw.” 

“ After having dispossessed you of your house, 
I can speak knowingly, since I bought it,” added 
La Houssaye. 

“ Oh, do not pity me,” said the priest, gaily. 

This evening I am benefiting by the Divine 
Socialist’s words: ‘But when thou makest a 
feast, call the poor.’ But it seems to me this is 
a rather serious conversation for a dinner of 
Saint Hubert.” 

They all understood that the priest wished to 
fall in the background, and Ferreol turned the 
conversation on the incidents of the day. After 
dinner, Abbe Esminjeaud followed the men to 
the voluntary exile of their cigars. 

“ I do not smoke,” said he, replying to a jeer- 
ing remark of Thomassin’s, “ but I am coquettish 


120 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

in my way. My black cassock is too great a 
contrast to the toilettes of some of these 
ladies.” 

“You mean,” retorted Thomassin, “to their 
corsages. That is one of the cruelties of the 
Church. It obliges you to live among women, 
but forbids you to have a wife. Ah, monsieur, 
the celibacy of priests ; what a question.” 

“ Who poses the question ? Those who know 
nothing of our lives. Those who are in igno- 
rance of the overflowing joy, the supernatural 
delight which inundates each one of our days, 
even beneath the ice of old age, when the God 
of Love is born in our hands, when we speak to 
Him. I assure you that all the rest appears to 
us but a trifle.” 

“ A trifle, a trifle,” growled Thomassin. “ In 
spite of that, there are some falls in the priest- 
hood.” 

“ Twenty times fewer than in the world,” said 
the abb6. “ It is much easier to keep sacerdotal 
chastity than the marriage vow.” 

“Eh! the dickens !” exclaimed Montgodfroy. 
“ It is you who ought to tell us that, when you 
perform the marriage ceremony. But when we 
are on our Prie-dieus you preach to us of con- 
jugal fidelity, like the doctors who talk of sun- 
shine to the consumptives whom they send to 
Hice. One would imagine that after quitting 
Toulon it never rained.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


121 


The Marquis de Yillegarde, pointing to Adrien 
and Fernand, winked, and added, — 

‘‘ My dear Honore, think of these young fel- 
lows whom the Trie-dim claims ; you must not 
discourage them. As for you. Monsieur Thomas- 
sin, I suppose that you find the world too badly 
arranged to wish to prevent its coming to an 
end.” 

The person referred to looked silently into 
space. In truth, this “ grand seigneur” exasper- 
ated him with his cautious banter and correct 
jokes. Montgodfroy, evidently animated by his 
argument, continued in spite of the advice. 

“Well, I only wish I was a priest for just five 
minutes, just sufficient time to deliver a sermon 
on marriage ; there would not be the stereotyped 
blessing, I can assure you. To the husband, I 
should say: My son, you are what one calls a 
coureur ; I do not say more because of the sanc- 
tity of the place. You, my daughter, are frivo- 
lous, coquettish, hungering for admiration. You 
have done your best to see and to hear — and you 
have seen and heard. How, for some reason which 
it is not my business to inquire into, you, my son, 
and you, my daughter, wish that I unite you two 
for life. It is a pleasure that I have not the right 
to refuse you, even if I wished it. But I do not 
wish it, although I prefer to be in my place rather 
than in yours So, my children, you are going to 
swear to what you do know — and even to what 


122 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

you do not know. Many will tell you that to be 
virtuous is easy with God’s assistance. I am 
too honest to allow you to believe it. Conjugal 
fidelity is contrary to nature ; it is contrary to 
the habits of the world; it is contrary to the 
former habits of one of you; contrary to the 
examples divined by the other. But there are 
miracles, in other words, marriages without any 
breach of loyalty, and we, here assembled to- 
gether, are going to pray the Lord to deign to per- 
form one of these miracles in the present case. 
It will not be quite the first that I have witnessed 
out of the several hundred marriages that I have 
blessed. Let us wager, abbe, that you do not 
preach such sermons. But, seriously, is not the 
question insolvable ?” 

“ Quite so,” replied the priest ; “ except, like 
the great Social question, through love and 
conscience, that is to say, through Christ. Be- 
sides, what is the famous war of Labour against 
Capital? It is an unhappy couple who are 
always quarrelling ; that is all.” 

At these words he took leave of his host 
and the masculine guests of the smoking-room, 
escorted by La Houssaye, who pretended he 
wished for a little walk. As long as the lights 
of the chateau were in sight the two companions 
remained silent. It was only under the shadow 
of the first trees in the forest that Abbe Esmin- 
jeaud asked him, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 123 

Why are you so taciturn this evening ? Your 
manner does not please me. What is weighing 
upon you? anxiety, sorrow, or only the blue 
devils ?” 

‘‘ It is something more,” said Adrien. ‘^It is 
hunger, it is thirst, it is fever, it is the anguish 
of a sentence on which my life is at stake ; it is 
the hope of a heaven that I do not deserve ; it 
is the terror of a hell against which even inno- 
cence cannot protect me. In one word, it is 
love. At last I have been able to speak. At 
this hour I understand the boon of confession.” 

“ So much the better, my friend. However, I 
will reply to you as did Friar Laurent to Romeo : 
‘ I should prefer a confession with fewer enigmas,’ 
I know you too well, moreover, to think it is 
simply the question of some Rosalind.” 

“Ho; but a Juliet who is much longer in 
responding than the heroine of Shakespeare.” 

“Do I know her?” asked the priest, with a 
joyous emotion in his voice. 

“You dined opposite to her just now.” 

“ Opposite to her ? but then — it is not, great 
heavens ! Can it be Mademoiselle de Louarn ?” 

“ Alas, yes ! I am audacious enough, perhaps 
unfortunate enough, to love her.” 

The darkness prevented him from seeing the 
line of bitterness around the abba’s mouth. As 
he sighed, Adrien asked, — 

“ Why do you also seem to pity me ?” 


124 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

“ I, also ? But you said that I was the first to 
whom you had confessed this love.” 

‘‘Another has guessed it: Ferreol, and, like 
you, he sighed.” 

“ And no doubt, like myself, he was struck by 
your depressed spirits.” 

“ Ah ! my heart is heavy with anxiety. She 
has altered since yesterday ; she is no longer the 
same woman ; because of what ? of whom ? But 
it is not intended that a priest should understand 
certain anguishes which, moreover, he disdains.” 

“Undeceive yourself. When a storm upsets 
the human heart or agitates its waves, it is never 
a spectacle to be disdained. The ocean and the 
human heart approach nearer the Infinite than 
any other created thing.” 

“ God ought to be prouder for having made 
one such woman than to have created worlds. 
She possesses everything that I have ever 
dreamed of in the feminine being, — ^beauty, de- 
scent, all the sublime qualities that constitute 
nobility.” 

“ But what matters the nobility to you ?” said 
the abb^, with a sort of vexation ; “ you are not 
noble ?” 

“ Far from it. But for me love is a prostra- 
tion. It seems to me I could not love my equal.” 

“ That is chivalrous, but dangerous. May 
heaven guide you. And now let us part. A 
dress suit and patent-leather shoes are scarcely 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 125 

suitable for crossing tbe woods at such an 
hour.” 

In the corner of the salon at Villegarde Fer- 
nand was cleverly paving his way to the heart 
and millions of Louise. To tell the truth, Made- 
moiselle Montgodfroy appeared to listen with 
distraction to the sentimental talk of the officer, 
even to Antoinette’s gossip. After a little while 
she rose, declaring that she was completely worn 
out with fatigue, and took leave of the guests. 
Fernand whispered a few words in his sister’s 
ear, who almost immediately retired. 

“ The little girls are going to bed,” said Mar- 
tha. “ At last we shall be able to talk non- 
sense.” 

But if any one talked nonsense during the 
evening it was surely not Adrien La Houssaye, 
to whom the salon appeared a void when he 
returned. 


CHAPTER X. 

Little girls, even grown-up ones, are not al- 
ways to be believed when they declare they 
are tired out. Antoinette, robed in a comfort- 
able peignoir knocked at a neighbouring door. 

“ Come in,” said a remarkably sweet voice. 

Mademoiselle Montgodfroy, who expected her 
maid, stood up, greatly surprised to see her 
11 * 


126 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

friend, and discreetly hid the rosary which she 
had in her hand. Antoinette saw it, however. 

“ You are more pious than I,” said she. “ I 
am mortified to have disturbed you. But we 
came to no conclusion respecting our projects for 
to-morrow. You know, of course, there is to 
be no hunt.’’ 

‘‘ I know it, and I will take this opportunity to 
pay an early visit to the good cure of Morniere. 
Perhaps it would amuse you to come with me ?” 

“ Yes, certainly it would ; you are very fond of 
him ?” 

“I have not a better friend, and yet we 
scarcely see each other. Now and then he 
comes to pay a visit to the old house which he 
has sold ” 

“ To Monsieur La Houssaye. I have break- 
fasted there. I know its history. Of course the 
Abb^ Esminjeaud does not go to Murier with- 
out calling at Saint Urbain. Perhaps he is your 
confessor.” 

“ Oh, only for serious cases,” said Louise, 
smiling. 

“ The time for serious cases, in other words, 
serious resolutions, has not yet come,” said 
Antoinette. “ How old are you ? Eighteen ?” 

“ I shall be this winter.” 

Mademoiselle de Louarn dropped into an 
arm-chair, and continued in an unconstrained 
manner, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


127 


“ So my brother has won his bet. The other 
day we were discussing your age. You must 
know I very often speak of you with him/’ 

“ I am a poor subject of conversation.” 

“That is not our opinion. I must even tell 
you that my brother accuses me of envying you. 
But that is not true. I do not envy you, for you 
have the misfortune to be rich. In such circum- 
stances, were you to hear words of love, how 
could you tell whether they were sincere or not ?” 

“ I have never heard any,” said Louise, gravely. 

“ But, at your age, you risk hearing them al- 
most any minute.” 

“ How do you know ?” 

“Well, let us pretend that I have the gift of 
second sight,” said Antoinette, laughing. “ I am 
a Breton, you know.” 

Louise turned towards her companion a singu- 
larly thoughtful look, then, weighing each of her 
words, she said, — 

“ Well, if you are clairvoyant, and if you fore- 
see that a young man is going to tell me that he 
loves me, you must also see that he will lose his 
time.” 

She was silent, and then, after a short reflec- 
tion, as though emboldened, she added, — 

“But how do you know that I also do not 
possess second sight ? I foresee that a young man 
loves you^ and that he will tell you soon, if he has 
not done so already. I hope that you do not 


128 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


mind my speaking of these things ? It is not I 
who commenced the subject.” 

“Ho,” said Antoinette. “ I do not resent it.” 

It was her turn, now, to stare at Louise, who 
flushed, then paled, and grew nervous beneath 
the look of a true woman, more experienced in 
the storms of life. After a few seconds, she got 
up. 

“ I do not love Monsieur La Houssaye,” said 
she, in a clear and distinct voice. “ On that let 
us try to sleep. I will he ready to accompany 
you to-morrow.” 

After her departure. Mademoiselle Montgod- 
froy heaved a deep sigh of relief, caused by what 
she had just heard. Then, after a long reverie, 
still very sad in spite of all, she collected her 
thoughts anew and continued her prayers. 

The next day, about ten, the young girls, with 
the governess, mounted a vehicle, which the 
English call a “ governess cart,” Louise taking 
the reins. They started for La Morniere, while 
Ferreol cried out, — 

“Well, out of the four, there is at least one 
reasonable one, and that is the pony.” 

Moutonne understood that she could take it 
leisurely to the great satisfaction of the gover- 
ness, who watched the copse closely in the hope 
of seeing a stag hound forth. In the absence of 
a stag, the mere sight of a rabbit caused her to 
utter a cry of joy. The young girls were more 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 129 

fastidious in their tastes, as became true hunt- 
resses, and were speaking of the Abbe Esmin- 
jeaud. 

“ Ten years ago,” explained Mademoiselle 
Montgodfroy, “ la Morniere was only a hamlet 
without a church, a deprivation hardly regretted, 
considering that its people were true heathens. 
Kow you are going to see a charming Roman 
chapel and a nice-looking presbytery, so far as 
the exterior is concerned, for it is not furnished. 
We shall have to sit on empty boxes. Both 
presbytery and church the abbe has built with 
his own money, and that is the reason why Mon- 
sieur La Houssaye dwells at Murier.” 

“ A charming house, is it not ?” said Antoi- 
nette. 

“ I know nothing about it,” sighed Louise. 

Its new owner invited me several times with 
mamma when he first came here. But I was 
always left at Saint Urhain. Little girls are 
such a nuisance. Moreover, mamma has not 
been there for ages. She says that in a bache- 
lor’s house one always fancies that one is in an 
inn.” 

Surely the pony was not to blame for ‘‘la 
belle Martha’s” sulkiness, yet she received a lash 
of the whip, the first since her departure, which 
made her trot lively. Five minutes later they 
pulled up at the presbytery. A little, stout, 
red-faced man, disagreeable in appearance, was 


130 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

superintending the unloading of a cart of furni- 
ture. 

“ What a sly boots this ahbe is,” said Louise. 
“ He has bought furniture and has said nothing 
about it.” 

The little man seemed to take great pleasure 
in this reflection. With his hat on the back of 
his head, his hands thrust in his pockets, and the 
insolent leer of a scoundrel, he asked, — 

‘‘ These young ladies wish ? ” 

“ To see Monsieur le Cure. Is he at home ?” 
murmured the young girl, strangling her indig- 
nation. 

' “ Look in the sacristy,” answered the boor. 
“ There you will get some information.” 

And as the cart was turning towards the 
church, he exchanged some low jokes with the 
porters. 

Seated on a stool, the ahbe was reading in 
the narrow building adjoining the sanctuary. 

He stood up, cheered at once by the sight of 
his visitors. 

“ What an agreeable surprise !” 

‘‘It is a day of surprises,” said Louise. 
“ What are they doing at your house ?” 

“ At my house ? Alas ! I no longer have a 
house. My presbytery has been seized and sold 
by order of the Court. What can I do ? As a 
cure I am not worth much, but as a business 
man I am dreadful. I build and build ; I sign 


m QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


131 


notes ; I sign everything that is put before me 
provided the masons may work, and one fine day 
I am expelled. It seems to me that I shall 
never he able to keep a roof over my head. 
Nevermind. Do not pity me. For the moment 
I am the good Lord’s tenant.” 

He pointed smilingly to a coarse curtain, be- 
hind which they guessed there was a mattress on 
the floor. 

‘‘Mon DieuT' said Louise, with moistened 
eyes ; “ and you said nothing to my uncle ?” 

“I did not think that things would be so 
rushed. And then I feared that Monsieur le 
Marquis would be extravagant. I have cost him 
so much already. Indeed, it is nothing; and, 
thank God, my church is paid for.” 

“ Ah, these miserable people ! They will force 
you to go away.” 

“ No, indeed ; I have no dealings with them, 
since the parish is not yet established. The 
Funds of public worship ignore me ; one person 
alone could force me to go away, and that is my 
bishop.” 

“ Your bishop, your bishop, and if you die of 
hunger ?” 

“ You know well that I shall not die of hun- 
ger,” answered the priest, casting a knowing 
look at Louise. “ I receive charity for my poor, 
and I am indelicate enough to share it with 
them.” 


132 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Antoinette, who seemed overwhelmed with 
surprise, had not spoken, finally she said, — 

‘‘ What an example for souls that are seeking 
an Ideal ! Here is a confessor of the faith.” 

‘‘What conception have you of the priest- 
hood ?” replied the ahbe, almost severely. “ In 
truth, I expected some thorns in my pathway ; in- 
deed, I did not hope for the happiness that I have 
found in this life. Saturday I was obliged to 
leave my house. It was too luxurious. God has 
punished me. The following day three men 
attended mass, under protest, perhaps, more than 
by conviction. Be that as it may, I have never 
had so many men in my church at one time since 
it was opened. But one must have been a mis- 
sionary in order to comprehend this joy.” 

“Ho,” said Mademoiselle de Louarn. “I 
understand it, and I ask myself if I in my life 
will ever know so great a joy.” 

“You were speaking of souls who seek the 
Ideal,” replied the ahbe. “ Have you not found 
yours yet, you, the daughter of Pierre de Lou- 
arn, the fervent Christian ?” 

“ For the life to come I trust in God,” said 
Antoinette, “but for this one, — I am a woman. 
I can fight with neither the sword nor the pen 
like my father, nor preach the gospel like you.” 

The blue eyes of Mademoiselle Montgodfroy 
swept the ceiling. The cure asked her with a 
smile, as though he knew better, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 133 

‘‘And you, my child, have you found your 
Ideal 

“ Oh, yes,’’ she replied, confidently ; “ my ideals 
are found, for, not being a saint, I need a first 
one for this world. But may we not visit the 
church ?” 

They had only to pass through the door which 
separated the sacristy from the choir. The oak 
reredos framed a rather fine picture, a gift from 
the marquis, representing the martyrdom of 
the “ Quatre Courronnes,” patron saint of the 
stone-workers, for stone cutting was the prin- 
cipal industry of the place. While Antoinette 
and the governess were listening to the legend, 
passably obscure it must be admitted, Louise 
was descending the nave and approached a 
statue of the Virgin for which she had a great 
devotion. It was not that the Madonna thus far 
had worked miracles, but Louise, having paid for 
this effigy, was supposed to have the privilege of 
obtaining special graces. Perhaps she was ask- 
ing one in particular, for she drew from her 
pocket a blue ribbon, to which was attached a 
gold medallion. Certain of not being seen, she 
mounted a chair and nimbly passed the votive 
oftering around the neck of the Virgin. She 
then kneeled down and said a prayer. Clasping 
her hands tightly together, and laying a stress 
on the words in a sort of despair which brought 
the tears to her eyes, she murmured, “ One has 
12 


134 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

never, never, never heard of a person being for- 
saken who has had recourse to you.” 

^Nevertheless, the holy Virgin of Morniere was 
submitted to a severe test for her debut Louise 
thought so, indeed, as she joined her compan- 
ions who were hanging on the lips of the abb4. 
As half-past eleven struck, the governess declared 
that it was time to start if they wished to be at 
the chateau for breakfast. 

“ But you, poor Monsieur le Cure,” said An- 
toinette, “ where will you breakfast now ?” 

“ Don’t disturb yourself. I have only to make 
my choice among the invitations even from very 
poor parishioners, and those who are least sus- 
pected of clericalism. Human nature is better 
than we think, after all.” 

It will be seen that the Abbe Esminjeaud was 
not of those who are embittered by difficulties. 


CHAPTER XL 

The hunt was renewed on the following day. 
This time a young stag was selected, the mar- 
quis wishing to test the endurance of his equi- 
page, beasts and men. 

As might be expected, it was a hard day. 
Without doubling, the animal, trusting to its 
speed, darted with the fleetness of an arrow to 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 135 

the great woods. Pushed very quickly, at first 
he grew bewildered and rushed through the 
streets of ITemours, crossing the road, the rail- 
road, and canal. In the woods of the Comman- 
der ie the scent was lost. By this time only a 
small number of riders, including the intrepid 
Antoinette, were following. Madame Montgod- 
froy, Louise, Adrien — still faithful to his post — 
and Fernand — now decidedly in a bad humour 
— all formed a rear-guard reinforced by the 
breaks, in which to-day were seen Thomassin 
and the banker. But after leaving l!lemours — 
in other words, after three leagues — these easy- 
going sportsmen gave up the hunt upon La 
Houssaye’s advice, who said, — 

“ The marquis wanted a hard run. Well, he 
may count upon having it. Gracious knows 
how far this stag may lead him. As for our- 
selves, it would be folly to go farther, as we 
are so far behind.” 

Yillegarde, however, had put the hounds on 
the right scent. He was radiant and galloped as 
vigorously as he had done fifteen years ago ; but, 
no matter what the pace or the obstacle, he always 
heard behind or beside him Elphin’s hoofs, 
whose rider seemed to defy falls, and even death 
itself. 

In the groves of Franchart the pack abandoned 
the scent. It was two o’clock, and it was neces- 
sary to go back some seven or eight leagues, and 


136 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

this time there was no ammunition waggon at 
hand. Ferreol, seeing that the dogs were ral- 
lied, left his huntsmen to clear things up, and, 
accompanied by Mademoiselle de Louarn, he 
reached a lodge where he knew he should be 
able to get an omelette and the shelter of a roof. 

When they were seated at table beneath the 
rustic beams of the best room, the marquis said 
to the beautiful rider, who no longer wore her 
impenetrable mask, — 

‘‘Your fearlessness and energy are remark- 
able. But you will kill yourself some day in 
trying to follow me.” 

“ And suppose I do kill myself?” she asked, 
with a flash in her eyes. “Would you regret 
me ?” 

For a few seconds Ferreol seemed to read 
those eyes, which were not lowered. This hero 
of so many love adventures knew too much of 
the language of a woman’s eyes to be deceived. 
In a grave or rather paternal voice he answered, — 

“ My dear child, should you die, it would be a 
shame only to be regretted by an old man. It 
would not be difficult to be wept for by eyes 
more youthful.” 

“ !N’o ; it is in your eyes that I should like to 
see tears, at least one tear, on the day you hear 
that I am dead.” 

Who now would have found Antoinette’s 
beauty cold ? 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 137 

“ Come,” said Yillegarde, “ I see that El- 
phin’s gallop has rather turned this pretty 
head.” 

“ Why not say simply that I am mad ? I do 
not think, however, that I am.” 

‘‘You are not mad, but you are only un- 
happy. Unhappiness has many names, and I 
am in ignorance what to call yours. Will you 
allow me to question you as though you were 
Faust and I was — which I am not — Mephis- 
topheles ?” 

“ Well, go on.” 

“ Surely it is not either youth or beauty that 
you lack. But a beauty like yours requires a 
frame ; do you covet wealth ?” 

“ I have suffered less from poverty than from 
the solitude which dries up my heart. And soon, 
like Goethe’s hero, I shall deplore the loss of 
youth.” 

“ Are you blind, then ? Do you not see love 
and riches lying at your feet — what do I say? 
they implore you. A young man is dead to the 
world since he has met you.” 

“ Oh !” she cried, hiding her face in her hands ; 
“ you regard me only as a girl on the point of 
becoming an old maid and who is looking for a 
husband. Great heavens ! at least I had hoped 
for some words that I could cherish in my mem- 
ory; instead, you tell me where I can find a 
husband. Come, let us go ; I want to leave this 
12 * 


138 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL 

place. I should like to hide myself, — how dis- 
graceful !” 

She stood up, forgetting her luncheon, scarcely 
tasted. In a curt voice she called for her horse. 
The forester, greatly astonished, scarcely conceal- 
ing the malicious thought which was revealed 
in his shrewd eyes, brought up the two steeds. 
A moment later the hero of this singular idyl 
was trotting on the road to Villegarde, while an 
ominous silence reigned. 

By the time they reached the chateau, Antoi- 
nette’s pride had gotten to windward. Resolved 
in the first moment to seize a pretext for leaving 
the following day, she saw that this abrupt de- 
parture would not throw dust in the eyes of 
either her father, brother, or the Montgodfroys. 
She resolved to be stronger than her madness; 
for Yillegarde had judged her rightly, — she had 
been momentarily insane. At dinner she assumed 
an appearance of gaiety. She conversed with 
Thomassin on her literary aspirations, hanging 
on his words as on an oracle, pretending admira- 
tion for the boldness of the principles which he 
expressed. She talked only with him. The 
marquis was dull, an unusual occurrence : Mont- 
godfroy chafied him, — 

“ Tine retraite manquee. That is a catastrophe. 
Stocks will fall to-morrow.” 

‘‘ Certain catastrophes do not cause stocks to 
fall,” replied Ferreol, without smiling. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


139 


The next morning a break carried quite a 
goodly number of travellers to the station. 
Montgodfroy and Pierre de Louarn went to 
Paris, one for business, the other for bis lectures. 
Louise and the governess were taking the same 
train, sent to the city by “ la belle Martha” to 
execute commissions. Antoinette accompanied 
her father and Louise, she herself being escorted 
by Adrien and Fernand. In the meanwhile 
Tbomassin was at work in the library, at least 
it was there that they had left him. 

A young officer from Fontainebleau, a com- 
rade of Lieutenant de Louarn, happened to be 
in the train. 

“ Come and breakfast at mess,” he cried. 
‘‘ Jump in quickly.” 

They were closing the doors ; Fernand sprang 
in. 

“Well, and I,” said Antoinette. “Here I 
am alone now !” 

“Mademoiselle,” said Adrien, “since you 
have no chaperon, I will leave you the carriage 
and return on foot.” 

“ What childishness,” said Pierre de Louarn. 
“ Go, get in together.” 

And the train started, one noticed the 
expression of despair in Louise’s eyes. 

Some minutes before. La Houssaye, in the pro- 
found bitterness of his heart, had given up all 
hope of ever having a conversation with his cold 


140 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

idol. Startled at first by this unexpected piece 
of luck which accident had thrown in his way, 
he soon braced himself up, realising that he 
must, at all costs, sound the depths of this mys- 
terious anguish that weighed upon him and the 
future. In the drive from the chateau to the 
station, Antoinette had almost ignored his pres- 
ence. Why this unwonted reserve? Was she 
thinking of some one ? Thomassin, perhaps, as 
he was the only man who had spoken three times 
to this sphinx for several weeks. 

Adrien was too young to look upon a man of 
fifty-five as a possible rival for him. 

With good horses the distance from the station 
to Yillegarde would take twenty minutes. So 
he must not waste time ; fortunately, the noise 
of the wheels and the bells on the harness would 
prevent their voices from reaching the postillion 
and footman, seated high on the box. Mastering, 
with difficulty, his emotion. La Houssaye said, — 
“ Do you remember our last tete-a4Ue f It was 
at Meaux, and that day I saw you smile. Now, 
it seems to me that I am plunged in the darkness 
of a Polar night, for you never smile. Tell me. 
Majesty, what can I do to make you happy?’’ 
Antoinette answered, — 

“ It is true, I am an ingrate. But why do you 
love me ?” 

He uttered a cry of joy, and, clasping his 
hands, he said, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 141 

s Ah, you know that I love you, cruel hut all- 
powerful queen ! Yes, it is a madness ; I know 
it. Forgive me. What matters to you if the 
dream of a slave has leaped all obstacles, has 
passed invisible, through the grade of rank, and 
stripped off in its audacity the crown of vour 
beauty ?” 

“ You must, indeed, have been dreaming,” she 
said, touched, in spite of herself, “ to see me so 
different from what I am. Look at me well; 
you will find that I am only a woman like all 
others. You have loved some, no doubt, who 
were worth a hundred of me.” 

‘‘ 'No, I have never loved anyone. One might 
say that Ifelt you come into my life. And, now, 
that you are there, you will remain, — as a torture, 
probably. There is no hope for my love ?” 

“ For heaven’s sake, do not question me !” 

‘‘ Anything is better than this uncertainty, and 
then, if it is my presence that puts this flash of 
anger in your eyes, I must go away.” 

Antoinette collected herself instantly. She 
looked at the tops of the great oaks, still clad in 
verdure ; one after another was lost in the midst 
of a November fog, which draped the woods like 
a great wet shroud. She was astonished, almost 
irritated, to hear a man speak to her of love, 
amidst this desolation of nature and of her own 
heart. A vague need of not being the only one to 
suffer made her cruel, and she thus answered, — 


142 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

“In my bitterness, you count for nothing. 
The truth is, that I love some one, and without 
hope.” 

“Without hope, my God! Is he not free, 
then ? It is not ” 

La Houssaye withheld the name of Thomassin, 
which was on his lips. Was it possible that An- 
toinette de Louarn could love, “ without hope,” 
this pedant, who was full of himself? She con- 
tinued, — 

“ The man I love is free, but he does not deem 
me worthy of even a thought. And shall I tell 
you the advice that he gave me ? Go, marry my 
friend La Houssaye !” 

“ What ! is it Villegarde, then ? Ah, this 
is the last blow; he is sacrificing himself for 
me !” 

“ Ho,” said Antoinette, with a pitiless smile. 
“He sacrifices nothing. Besides, why do you 
not speak to him ? he will tell you the truth.” 

“ And, if he tells me that he does not love 
you, would you still refuse to be my wife ?” 

Her eyes flashed beneath her contracted brows. 
She said, — 

“ Don’t tempt me ; that would save my pride. 
To a woman like myself the offer is alluring.” 

“ Accept it, then.” 

“ Perhaps I might be capable of this cowardice, 
but I am too loyal to take you at your word. 
Mind, I cannot, I will not, forget Villegarde.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


143 


“ Let me, then, suffer with you. Allow me to 
wait one year, ten years, all my life. Who knows 
when the hour will come that you can forget 
Yillegarde — and love me !” 

“ Take care ; perhaps it is an endless martyr- 
dom that you would accept.” 

“ Ah, this perhaps, that you say, is enough for 
me. It is like a golden ray in the misty dawn. 
The sun will shine, perhaps, before the close of 
the day.” 

“What sort of a man are you, then?” said 
she, astonished. “ I fear that I am a monster.” 

“l^o; you have hidden nothing. You are 
loyal, and I feel that you will always he so.” 

“Yes, that, certainly. I would kill myself 
rather than be false.” 

“ So then I have your promise ?” 

Adrien spoke like a man ill and in a de- 
lirium, without a gesture or inflection of the 
voice. But his eyes which devoured Antoinette 
sufficed to show his passion. She was frightened 
by it, and suddenly grew calm. 

“Let us collect ourselves,” said she, after a 
short silence. “We are both of us passing 
through a fit of madness. Perhaps one day you 
will curse me should I profit by the exaltation 
you are now in. Listen to me. I impose one 
year of probation. At the end of this time, 
should you offer me the engagement ring, I 
swear to accept it. But I exact one condition. 


144 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


This very day the marquis must know from you 
of this conversation.” 

A gesture from Adrien showed his suffering. 
Mademoiselle de Louarn continued : What do 
you imagine ? that I hope for a change in his feel- 
ings ? 'No, I am not an imbecile. I know quite 
well that the marquis will congratulate you with- 
out an after-thought of regret for himself. But 
I insist that he shall know all. Then, for one 
year or for always, you will forget, and to the 
world we shall remain only as ordinary friends.” 

‘‘ I will obey you,” said Adrien. “ You are a 
most noble woman. Will you not give me your 
hand ?” He kissed her glove, and almost imme- 
diately they stopped at the steps of Yillegarde. 
As Antoinette was gaining her room. La Hous- 
saye asked for the marquis. He was told that 
he was in the pavilion of the Venery. 

Ferreol was listening to the reports of his 
gamekeepers, but was especially examining the 
demands for indemnity which poured upon him 
every morning. 

“ There !” said he, when the audience was fin- 
ished. ‘‘ Such is the life led by the seigneur of 
to-day. Instead of hanging their vassals, as in 
the legends, they give them their money to es- 
cape being summoned before the justice of the 
peace. And we are accused of continuing the 
oppression. How I envy you not to be a landed 
proprietor !” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


145 


“ Do not envy me until I have told you what 
brought me. Can we talk quietly in this den 

“ More so than elsewhere. But what have 
you to tell me, for you are livid.” 

“ I am going to relate a very simple story. I 
have just come from the station. I was all 
alone in the carriage with Mademoiselle de 
Louarn. Taking advantage of this tete-a-tete^ I 
proposed to her.” 

“ That was rather English,” observed the mar- 
quis, with a visible shuddering. ‘‘ But, after all, 
this young girl is not an ordinary person.” 

“I should say not,” said Adrien, without a 
smile. “ At all events, she accepts me.” 

Yillegarde did not say one word ! His strong 
face bore a look of disapprobation, but betrayed 
no self-sacrificing struggle. Adrien quickly re- 
sumed, — 

‘‘Do not judge her severely, even for one 
second. I am here by her command.” 

He related the scene which had just taken place. 

“ Indeed,” concluded Ferreol, after a moment ; 
“ the situation is uncommon. But our friendship 
is strong enough to stand it. More so, as, thank 
heaven, I do not love Mademoiselle de Louarn. 
What shall I say to you? A woman-hater 
would burst into invectives. For myself, who 
love and defend women, I only see an excess of 
loyalty in this young person. Frankness for 
frankness, is it not ? Were you my son, I would 
Q k 13 


146 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

do my best that the engagement ring should 
remain at the jeweller’s. 'Not that this strange 
creature is unworthy of you, but she is not the 
one I should have chosen for your wife. Being 
only your friend, I must remain neutral. On 
my honour, and you can tell her so if you wish, 
I will not move a finger to change your senti- 
ments towards her ; and now may Grod help you.” 

Amen !” said Adrien, with a sigh. “ But I 
will tell her nothing ; it is useless. She knows 
you, and trusts in your delicacy as gentilhomme. 
You esteem her, don’t you ?” 

“ With all my heart. Allow me to add that I 
pity her. Alas ! she is not the only one to be 
pitied.” 

Believing that these last words referred to 
himself. La Houssaye drew himself up and 
said, — 

‘‘ That is too much, marquis. I admit that one 
man in the world has not the right to envy me, 
and this man is yourself ; but if you wish that 
our friendship should stand this trial, do not pity 
me, but rather say you congratulate me.” 

“Well, then, I congratulate you, my friend.” 

Speaking thus, Ferr^ol sighed, thinking to 
himself how certain invitations, given with the 
idea of pleasing his grandniece, had turned out. 
Poor Louise ! . . . 

At this moment the breakfast-gong sounded, 
and it may be believed that neither of the two 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 147 

interlocutors cursed it, seeing the turn the con- 
versation had taken. The company at table was 
reduced to five persons, and at first they were 
silent. Villegarde and Adrien seemed greatly 
preoccupied. “La belle Martha” observed it, 
scenting something new in the air. Antoinette, 
nervous and excited, evidently needed to give 
vent to her agitation. With a visible determina- 
tion, she urged Thomassin to discuss the ques- 
tions up to now carefully avoided beneath the 
roof of Villegarde. It might he believed that 
she was aiming to outrage the tastes, instincts, 
and traditions of the marquis. 

Too sensible not to understand, and at the 
same time too generous not to excuse, the latter 
maintained a silence which threw Thomassin 
ofi* his guard. The Apostle, inspired by his new 
catechumen, rode his favourite hobby, social in- 
iquity, and pointed out the remedies, or, to be 
more correct, his remedy, with more freedom 
than he had ever displayed before Ferreol. He 
grew eloquent, with that easy eloquence of men 
who deplore evils too real, and who have no 
leader capable of bringing them back to practi- 
cal conclusions. Far from contradicting him, 
Antoinette approved, or at least tolerated, some 
ideas that even Pierre de Louarn would never 
have been able to admit. But he was not there 
to draw the line which separated the Christian 
Socialism from the other. His daughter, as she 


148 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL, 


listened to tlie plans, anything but Christian, of 
the reform to come, nodded her head and re- 
marked, — 

‘‘ These are indeed very curious theories.’’ 

La Houssaye sat as though lost in a dream, 
his eyes alone showing activity, feigning to eat, 
seeking vainly for a glance from Antoinette. 
Somewhat irritated at this slave’s abnegation, 
who took no interest in anything, the marquis 
addressed Adrien, and said, — 

“And you, my tactiturn friend, do you find 
these theories curious ?” 

“ I !” said the lover, with a start ; “ well, I find 
it quite natural that one speaks to me of the 
happiness of others. I only regret that no one 
cares for mine.” 

“ Your happiness is assured,” said Thomassin. 
“ What do you lack ?” 

In a voice which seemed to come from a very 
weary man, Adrien answered, — 

“ Allow me to declare, once for all, your gran- 
diloquent phrases make me smile. Why do you 
only pity one-half of humanity, and alwa^^s the 
same? This partiality makes me jealous. I 
assure you that there are some beings who 
neither suffer from cold, hunger, nor thirst ; who 
sleep in a good bed, who do not work even eight 
hours a day, and yet whose misery surpasses the 
trials of the most wretched of our workmen. Is 
it not time that you did something for these 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 149 

beings? And, if you are powerless, why am I 
bound to admire you V’ 

When they had returned to the salon, Thom- 
assin said, in a low voice, to Madame Montgod- 
froy,— 

“What is the matter with this handsome 
mystery? One would say that he had been 
rejected/’ 

“ Perhaps you make him jealous ?” replied 
“la belle Martha;” “his Infanta has earsonly 
for you.” 

“ You know my project. It is women like her 
and like you, not the meetings of the starved, 
who pull down the old fortress.” 

Only one more hunt took place before the 
breaking up of the first house-party. While on 
the way to the meet, Antoinette said, in quite a 
loud voice, to Madame Montgodfroy, — 

“ This morning I shall keep you company. It 
is our last day, and time I showed myself more 
sociable.” 

Indeed, no one would have recognised the 
fearless rider of a few days ago. She remained, 
until the death of the stag, with Madame Mont- 
godfroy, her daughter, Fernand, and Adrien. 
She spoke little, and seemed very content when 
they retook, at an early hour, the road to Yille- 
garde. In the evening, the dinner counted many 
guests, and there was the quarry by torchlight. 

13 * 


150 IN qUEST OF TEE IDEAL. 

‘When the horns had sounded the hon soir, and 
the torches were extinguished, the marquis ap- 
proached Antoinette, to whom he had scarcely 
spoken during the day. Offering her his arm, 
in order to quit the terrace, he said, — 

‘‘You would have preferred other musicians 
than my huntsmen, this evening, other actors 
than my bow-wows ; it can be read on your face ; 
you have been bored in this desert. But a poor 
gentleman-hunter can only give what he has.’’ 
She looked down at the flagstones, and said, — 
“ On the contrary, I will never forget this 
scene. Where find a more finished drama ? A 
day’s hunt is often the image of certain des- 
tinies ; you awake like the poor stag, only asking 
to be happy. Like a pack of hounds, fatality 
comes on your scent; it pursues, it overtakes 
you, and you disappear whilst some man goes to 
sleep, saying to himself, ‘ The day was interest- 
ing, it will begin again to-morrow.’ To-morrow, 
I shall be far from here.” 

She made no allusion to Adrien of their hypo- 
thetical engagement, only saying, just as she was 
entering the carriage, — 

“Will you caress Elphin for me, and try to 
make him pardon me ?” 

“ What can he have to pardon you for ? At 
the most, for having ridden too quickly ?” 

“First that, and then for having been an 
ingrate to his master.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


151 


“ All,” said the young man, closing his eyes to 
hide their flash, he what you like : I adore you.” 

Thus the persons of this story went their way : 
Louarn and his daughter to Paris, where pro- 
jects, still mysterious, detained the Christian 
socialist ; Fernand resumed his duty at Meaux, 
and his matrimonial projects, in a way, every- 
where ; Thomassin returned to his dinners at a 
prix fixe, and to his cheap cigars. As to Louise 
Montgodfroy, she had returned with her gov- 
erness to the majestic solitude of Saint Urbain, 
where every evening her father came and joined 
her. 

At last they had a good time at Villegarde. 
A new party of guests, sportsmen, elegant and 
gay, formed a court round “la belle Martha,” 
and “it was possible to talk,” now that the 
young girls had gone away; and Heaven knows 
they did talk, hut no longer of Socialism. 

The one who amused himself least was 
Adrien. On the hunting days, he galloped like 
mad behind the pack, and seemed to seek fa- 
tigue. If the hounds remained in the kennel, 
this gloomy young man was not to be seen. He 
ranged the woods or visited the Abbe Esmin- 
jeaud, encamped with his bed, table, and two 
chairs in a peasant’s cottage, the rent of which 
was paid by Louise. Frequently, Adrien passed 
half a day in Paris, which somewhat injured his 
reputation as a virtuous man, and exposed him 


152 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

to some coarse jokes, in wlaicli the marquis never 
took part. Since a certain explanation, he was 
careful in his manner to Adrien. The latter, 
however, without wishing or knowing it, per- 
haps, was no longer quite the same. 

So true is it that one golden or brown hair 
weighs heavily in the balance against the strong- 
est chains of human affection. 


CHAPTER XIL 

In the meanwhile Pierre de Louarn’s friends, 
whom he had left in Brittany, were wondering 
at his protracted absence. All was explained, 
however, when they heard that he had accepted 
the editorship of a great newspaper, founded by 
a “ groupe ” decidedly heterogeneous as to the 
basis of their ideas. This ‘‘ groupe ” was com- 
posed of Monarchists, who were ralliis, for a 
good or bad motive, Clericaux,* who, confounded 
by various disagreements among their leaders, 
were like unto a sick man who, seeing his doc- 
tors in dispute, forthwith resolves to become his 
own physician. There were likewise some de- 


* In France, Clericaux are men who make a special pretence 
of asserting and defending their religious ideas in their public 
or political career. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 153 

feated Conservatives, who, condemned to a long 
rest, had begun to feel cramps in their legs ; 
certain ambitious men accustomed to take a 
ticket in every lottery; some dreamers who 
follow any path, and devotees who light a taper 
before every shrine. There were, too, some 
saints thirsting for the salvation of souls ; some 
materialists, who occupied themselves with the 
well-being of the body; some sceptics who, 
frightened at the speed of the train, wished to 
back the engine. Last, but not least, there was 
Pierre de Louarn, the old soldier of Castelfi- 
dardo and Loigny, too courageous to fear an 
adversary, too loyal to suspect treason, but who 
was always ready to shake any hand extended to 
him, save when he saw in this hand the soilure 
of blackmail and embezzlement. 

On the day that Adrien brought the news to 
Villegarde of the establishment of the “ Social 
Amendment” Madame Montgodfroy declared 
with a sagacious air, — 

‘‘ Pierre de Louarn is one of the men who has 
the power to advance the salvation of society.” 

‘‘ That may be so,” said little Madame Lepin, 
who happened to be present ; “ but I doubt if 
he is a man qualified to control a daughter like 
his.” 

Perreol hastened to change the conversation. 

When, towards the middle of December, the 
Montgodfroys opened anew their house, Pierre 


154 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

de Louarn and his daughter were just com- 
pleting their temporary installment in a furnished 
apartment on the left side of the Seine, of which 
the mere outlook would have given blue devils 
to a Cornish miner. There, for entire days, 
crushed beneath the always active wheels of her 
imagination, Antoinette battled with herself in 
the crisis which was about to decide her life. 
She lacked one quality, the absence of which in 
our times costs so dearly. I mean resignation. 
She had not been resigned to the death of her 
mother, ten years before. She had not been 
resigned to her youth deprived of sunshine, nor 
to her increasing poverty, nor to the paternal 
failures. Furthermore, she felt disappointed in 
the indifference, as she thought, that men showed 
to her beauty, a beauty without smiles, and 
which commanded admiration rather than sub- 
mission to its charms. Perhaps she had been 
still less resigned not to experience love, this joy 
or sorrow, which so many ugly women had 
known. And when in a moment of exaltation, 
more or less real, she had felt the divine arrow 
pierce her soul, she had encountered not only 
an icy heart, but ic}^ words as well. She did 
not realise that, owing to his loyalty and good- 
ness of soul, Villegarde had exaggerated his 
words. She repeated to herself with great bit- 
terness, — 

“ And did he imagine that I wanted him to 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


155 


marry or even to love me ? I was beside myself, 
and it would have gratified me that my hero, 
found at last, should know of this infatuation if 
only to pity me ; but he — ^he only laughed at it.” 
To be just, this was the only folly that she had 
ever committed in her life. And either to save 
her pride or to escape the double misery of 
sufi:ering in solitude, she had promised herself 
almost cynically to another man. Hence a 
supreme grief, the suffering of unresigued souls. 
She no longer had that proud esteem of herself 
which sustains us against everything. 

During these weeks she fretted, seeing only 
her father in the evenings, and usually in the 
company of men who discussed their plans and 
theories, never suspecting that the attention of 
this tall young girl was merely that of polite- 
ness. Nevertheless, she did understand these 
questions, and they still interested her, but, since 
she had seen more of people and more of the 
world, her faith in the result wavered a little. 
Her brother, younger by a year than herself, 
gave her no encouragement. He was not re- 
signed, either, and for some time he had given 
up all hopes of understanding his sister, this 
living enigma. Moreover, he criticised his 
father’s theories as well as his line of conduct. 
He found fault with his enterprise and predicted 
his total ruin to many of his friends. The officer 
was very seldom seen in the apartment in the 


156 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

rue de la Chaise, where he was bored to death 
when he was not irritated to the point of exas- 
peration. Already, on more than one occasion, 
in his efforts to assail some fortresses within 
which were intrenched some big dots, he had 
noticed in certain of these bourgeois fathers 
a terror more or less concealed; to their ears 
the name of Louarn sounded like an alarm-bell. 
Antoinette had put Adrien to the test according 
to the conditions she had imposed. She had 
exacted that he should depart for Cannes, and 
remain as one dead. But he was not dead, to 
judge by the boxes of dowers, bonbons, and 
oranges which rained, surely not from heaven, 
in the gloomy and scarcely royal entresol which 
sheltered her poor “ Majesty.’’ 

In the meanwhile, Pierre de Louarn, for lack 
of more practical success, created a great deal of 
noise. The “Amendment,” which an Anarch- 
istic paper had suggested should be called the 
“ Harlequin,” in view, no doubt, of its motley 
staff", was attaining its aim, which was to unite 
“ the efforts” towards a social advancement ; but 
thus far the editor had only succeeded in uniting 
the efforts of his political enemies against the 
“ Amendment.” It received blows on all sides, 
and from all kinds of weapons. On the left the 
shower fell on a priest, a noted contributor, more 
ambitious than the Abb5 Esminj eaud. The priest 
essayed to demonstrate that a cassock is still better 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 157 

suited to represent the working-classes than the 
famous blouse of a certain deputy.* Other blows, 
more delicate, if not less menacing, came from the 
right and bruised the shoulders, which once had 
been very pleasing, so affirmed the legend, of 
an editress signing herself “ Renee.” Having 
grown old, “ Ren6e” had turned a sort of sister 
of charity, which is much like turning hermit. 
Only, instead of a veil she wore a red flag, and 
in place of a crucifix, a reporter’s badge, which 
opened many doors to her, even some that are 
not supposed to turn easily on their sacred 
hinges under the shadow of Saint Peter’s. The 
role of this intelligent woman, whether in the 
“ Amendment” or in other sheets less Catholic, 
was to ventilate all the misfortunes and catastro- 
phes which never happen but a subscription is 
opened at a newspaper office. As her ventila- 
tions were sincere and her hands clean, she col- 
lected some money, although she did not always 
distribute it judiciously. Many persons, Antoi- 
nette among them, saw only her good heart, 
overlooking the rest, and formed a friendship, 
even an enthusiasm for her. In truth, it was 
difficult to have a half liking for this generous 
crank. The Christian Socialist welcomed her 


* This refers to a Monsieur Thivrier, a Kevolutionary candi- 
date at the Legislative election in 1889, who took his seat in the 
Chamber of Deputies wearing a blue blouse over his coat. 


11 


158 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


with pleasure to his house; first, because he 
admired her, afterwards, because she prevented 
Antoinette from dying of ennui. 

Towards Christmas, as usual, the Montgod- 
froys returned to Parc Monceau. A few days 
later “ la belle Martha’’ entered the little parlour 
in the rue de la Chaise, all fiowering as a way- 
side altar. 

“ Ah,” she said, after having kissed the young 
recluse; ‘‘I see that you are not forgotten be- 
neath the palms of Cannes.” 

“What do you mean? Oh, these roses? 
Flowers grow in Paris, madame !” 

“ Nonsense; do you imagine that I cannot tell 
the difference between a rose from Nice and one 
from Montrouge ? And when will the engage- 
ment be announced?” 

“You are joking. For heaven’s sake leave 
me the only good thing that I have in my life, 
— la liber td^ — c/i’ e si car a .'” 

“ Chh'e petite, when one possesses such eyes 
as yours, she is the gaoler and not the prisoner* 
All the same, were I in your place, I should 
prefer that flowers be brought to me instead of 
being sent from so far. Cannes is a dangerous 
place. It is full of Americans, less beautiful 
than you, perhaps, but more matter of fact, who 
would be enchanted to mount Elphin.” 

“I assure you,” answered Antoinette, “ I would 
never, never, marry for money.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


159 


‘‘I^ever? Why not imitate the courtier of 
Louis XIV., to whom the king said, ‘ I give you 
this dish of partridges,’ — the silver dish was of 
beautiful workmanship and of good weight. ‘ Is 
it possible, sire V said the shrewd fellow. ‘ And 
the partridges, also?’ Ma jpetite, take the par- 
tridge in the bargain, in other words, the love : 
try to love La Houssaye. He is sufficiently good- 
looking to occupy for some time the imagination 
of a woman, — and the dish is of good weight.” 

‘Wou think me, then, avaricious; you are 
wrong. It seems to me it must be wearisome to 
be rich, or rather to be the wife of a rich man, 
when one has the misfortune to think too much.” 

‘‘ Yes, if that husband is named Montgodfroy, 
not if he is called La Houssaye. You speak as 
you think, and I believe you. Well, my dear, 
with wealth you would be able to do more work, 
and make more noise than twenty statesmen. 
See the place your new friend ‘ Ren§e’ holds, who 
has only her pen and her pluck. She would 
enter the legislative body to-morrow but for our 
blessed laws. You, ma belle, could have one of 
those salons where ministers are made, and — 
ministers make laws.” 

“ You speak as though I was fond of politics,” 
said Antoinette ; “ the truth is that they disgust 
me.” 

“My child, that which you call politics are 
fated to die; and it is woman’s hand that will 


160 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


drown them in the torrent of Social restoration. 
These words are not mine, but Thomassin’s. 
Au revoir. I will send my coup6 to-morrow, so 
that you may come and breakfast with me.” 

Henceforth there was a change in Antoinette’s 
life, to the great satisfaction of her father, who 
had not the time to inquire how she spent her 
hours, two or three times a week, at “la belle 
Martha’s.” He fancied that his daughter would 
meet the little Montgodfroy again. But poor 
Louise, a constant frequenter of fashionable lec- 
tures, ran away at dessert. Thomassin came; 
sometimes even “ Ben4e,” and Mademoiselle de 
Louarn took some lessons in a theology quite 
different from that of Saint Thomas. 

In the meanwhile, the winter season at Cannes 
was drawing to a close, and once more there were 
to be seen many people who had fled the boule- 
vard at the first snow-fall. Adrien, among the 
foremost to arrive, frequently appeared at the 
Montgodfroys, sure of meeting Antoinette there. 
The disagreeable part was that, in order to enjoy 
the fish, he was obliged to swallow the sauce of 
Thomassin and “ Een6e.” But his ever-burning 
passion enabled him to overlook everything. He 
would sit apart and gaze at “ his queen,” avoid- 
ing, faithful to his word, all semblance of the 
attentions of a suitor. Besides, he never doubted 
the loyalty of Mademoiselle de Louarn. His 
sufiering consisted in seeing the days drag by so 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


161 


slowly ; but he counted them without anguish, 
like a condemned man who is sure that his pun- 
ishment will end at the moment appointed by 
the judge. Antoinette treated him with a cold- 
ness, in which, however, there was a nervousness 
rather pleasing to him, — for indifference would 
have been worse. 

He was informed that Ferr^ol was still at his 
estate of Villegarde, and obviously avoided Paris 
during the winter. This unwilling rival was 
trying to make himself forgotten, and even re- 
move all cause for jealousy. To tell the truth, 
this exile was not a great sacrifice for the mar- 
quis. He found his forest the most fascinating 
of all places ; and, to be just, it must be added 
that Antoinette scarcely regretted this voluntary 
separation which spared her an embarrassing 
meeting. 

One person alone, even though she said noth- 
ing, was unhappy at Ferr^ol’s absence ; that was 
his grandniece. Having no longer the oppor- 
tunity of speaking, she ended by writing. Her 
letter is worth reading. 

“ So you do not come to Paris any more ? 
That is cruel, for with you, at least, I have the 
comfort of lamenting a little, which is useless, I 
know ; but, all the same, it does one good. The 
others would laugh at me as at a little girl hav- 
ing ideas beyond her years. It seems as though 
everyone ignores my age, even those who have 
l 14 * 


162 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

good reason for remembering it. My governess 
bolds me by the arm in the streets for fear of 
the vehicles, as though I was still at the catechism 
stage. And I have not a single friend ! 

“ I might have one, I believe, for Mademoiselle 
de Louarn treats me in the best way, and, like a 
good Christian, I try to love her. What has hap- 
pened is not her fault. But, oh ! how hard it is 
to smile at her and give her my hand ! Why 
has she come with her all-conquering beauty? 
beside which, one no longer looks at me, unless 
it is at my dot. He is at her feet, admiring 
everything, even that which would terrify an- 
other. Do you know what is hard, my dear 
uncle ? It is, that she does not love him, and 
shows it so plainly. Oh, in truth, one cannot 
accuse her of playing a comedy ; it would be im- 
possible to be less intriguing, and for that I can 
esteem her without being obliged to resort to 
prayer. As for her, her admiration turns to 
Seigneur Thomassin, and the one who loves her 
does not seem to resent it. G-reat heavens, what 
is to be done ? 

“ I well know that she admires Monsieur Thom- 
assin only for his mind and ideas ; these are too 
big, as a rule, for my poor little head. But some- 
times, however, I understand. Gracious ! if I 
wished to marry a woman, and if I saw this 
woman listening, approving, and tolerating all 
that she does, I should ask myself if this would 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


163 


be a prudent and orthodox companion to give 
my life to. And still he will marry her, you will 
see. It is no use for you to tell me that he is too 
sensible, and it is useless for me to pray and to 
make vows to the Holy Virgin. Abb6 Esmin- 
jeaud said to me in November, when I went to 
confession, ‘ My child, the Holy Virgin is the 
gate of Paradise ; she is not the ante-chamber to 
the Maine. She knows better than you the hus- 
band who will suit you !’ Ah, one is so often 
deceived ! How grateful I should be if the Holy 
Virgin would allow me to be deceived in accord- 
ance with the desire of my heart. 

“ To sum up, you divine perhaps that your little 
Louise is not the happiest creature in the world. 
I have courage in spite of all. I struggle, I work. 
When I am not at lectures, I remain a good deal 
in my own room. And no one, you know it, cares 
whether I leave it or not. I read, but everything 
turns bitter. Could you believe that I cried this 
morning when reading of some travels in Cali- 
fornia ? It spoke of how the first miners reached 
some good ground, planted a stake on which they 
inscribed their names, and this ground could not 
be explored by any one else. I had found my 
ground a long time ago, a good claim rich in 
pure gold, but I have not been able to post my 
name on my discovery, and another is victoriously 
installed there where I had hoped to find my 
fortune, in other words, my happiness.” 


164 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

This letter moved Ferreol to pity ; moreover, 
he could not always remain at Villegarde, espe- 
cially after the close of the hunting season. The 
first leaves were just appearing when he entered 
his bachelor apartment in Avenue Hoche, and 
on the following day a dtner intime was given in 
his honour at the Montgodfroys. With delicate 
attention, the guests of his first party of the 
autumn before met around the table. 

With the exception of the officer, all were 
present unchanged in appearance, but at the 
first glance the marquis perceived a marked 
alteration in Mademoiselle de Louarn. 

Without other personal interest than as a dilet- 
tante of the feminine heart, he was curious to 
see how this strange girl would welcome him. 
In this respect he had no cause to complain, for 
the meeting was banal. Antoinette extended 
her hand with an ease which exceeded all an- 
ticipation. She was still beautiful, but of a less 
Olympian beauty, and, according to his opinion, 
less disquieting even for a man not easily dis- 
turbed. She spoke louder, with greater gestures. 
She was more feverish, less queenly. But, above 
all, her independence of bearing, thoughts, asser- 
tions, sometimes surpassed the limits allowed, 
even by the customs of to-day, to a young and 
unmarried woman. 

To say that she experienced an unqualified joy 
in seeing Ferreol would, perhaps, be going too 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 165 

far. But this man, habituated to the most extra- 
ordinary changes in the heart of woman, was 
obliged to admit one thing, — the wound he had 
caused, if involuntarily, had been healed. To do 
him justice, Villegarde was delighted to remark 
it without any reservation to his vanity. 

It remained to find out if the physician was 
Adrien. Before forming his opinion, the mar- 
quis awaited the arrival of the young man. 
When he appeared there was a defiance shining 
in Antoinette’s eyes, and Villegarde experienced 
at the same moment a chill and a joy. A chill 
for Adrien, a joy for Louise. 

At table they talked a great deal about the 
last Anarchist ofience which was still agitating 
all Paris. Thomassin spoke little, too intelligent 
not to see to what such a madness was leading. 
In “la belle Martha” fear began to counter- 
balance great social theories. One person alone 
at this table of bourgeois, more or less gloomy, 
evinced something other than despondency ; it 
was Mademoiselle de Louarn. 

“ What is most dreadful in this catastrophe,” 
she said, “is the frightful suftering which it 
indicates ; for, in order that a man should reach 
this extremity, his moral misery must have sur- 
passed all that the imagination can conceive. 
Perhaps he is as much to be pitied as he is to 
be blamed.” 

Montgodfroy, in a very bad humor, said 


166 QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

nothing, but shrugged his shoulders, which 
offence, scarcely gallant, seemed to shock only 
Adrien. Louise looked at her uncle as much as 
to say, You hear how she speaks.” Pierre de 
Louarn, the hero of several battles, made this 
observation, — 

“What makes me the most anxious in this 
juncture is the cowardice of the public.” 

“ That is true,” said Ferreol ; “ but out of 
misfortune comes good. The fear of bombs will 
be the commencement of wisdom for those 
among us who wish to revive the ideas of La 
Fayette. This time we shall have the reign of 
terror before the ‘ Etats Generaux.’ ” 

“ One must not look upon a crank’s deed as a 
political rtgime^^ remarked Thomassin, sadly. 

“ The best of the affair is that the man has 
been caught,” said Montgodfroy. “ If only the 
jury do their duty.” 

“ Their duty !” protested Antoinette. “ This 
wretched man has a little daughter four years 
old. For this innocent child, you would like to 
have not only one executioner but twelve, who 
will render her an orphan, and, perhaps, a lost 
creature, and you pretend to be a Christian.” 

Involuntarily, the marquis glanced at La Hous- 
saye to see what he would say. But this lover 
was apparently moved at the display of such 
compassion. As every one maintained a silence, 
even Pierre de Louarn, Ferr6ol continued, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


167 


“ I do not know of a more dangerous doctrine 
tkan pity, whether justified or not. It is the last 
symptom which precedes the agony of a dying 
society.” 

“ Suppose we talk of something else,” said 
Montgodfroy. “ I have heard nothing since this 
morning hut bombs. After a certain time it 
irritates the nerves.” 

“ Dear sir,” said Thomassin, “ the bomb throw- 
ers have no other ambition than to shake your 
nerves. They wish to convince you that there is 
something to be done.” 

“ Yes, by Jove ! there is something to be done, 
and I have done it. I went to the prefecture of 
police, and I asked for a private detective. Did 
you not see him promenading before my door ?” 

What, really, you have done that, Honore ?” 
cried “ la belle Martha,” with an expanding smile. 

“ Do you take me for a fool ? The fools are 
those who do not see that I am able to protect 
myself because I have the wherewithal to pay. 
Yes, Monsieur Thomassin, the dynamiters will 
be obliged to go to your house ; nothing would 
stop them there.” 

A general laugh — even though a little forced 
— followed this repartee, and there was no fur- 
ther question of bombs that evening. 

Ferr4ol left with Adrien, who wished to speak 
with him. 

“ I don’t know what may be your opinion of 


168 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


me,” began the young man. “I wish at least 
to assure you that I am happy, at the bottom 
of my heart, to have found you again after this 
long absence. Are we not friends as always ?” 

They were passing beneath the rays of an 
electric lamp in Parc Monceau. Ferreol stopped 
and extended his hand to La Houssaye. 

“ Look in my eyes,” said he. ‘‘ Do you see 
aught else than the old friendship ?” 

“ 1^0 ; but several times during the evening I 
had a foreboding of reproach. For what do you 
reproach me ?” 

“ That is a delicate question ; nevertheless, 
because we are always friends, I am going to 
tell you. I blame you because for a future hus- 
band you are too silent. This young girl alarms 
me with her ideas. They are influencing her 
mind. Are you not afraid for the future ?” 

“ I am afraid of only one thing, — it is to live 
without her. When she shall be mine, I will 
give her so much happiness with the means of 
giving it to others, that this generous fever 
which has seized her will abate by itself.” 

God help you ! I should like another doctor 
instead of Thomassin to treat this fever. Father 
Louarn has grown deaf from living so long in 
the clouds. Once again, you are too silent.” 

I have discovered that Mademoiselle de Lou- 
arn becomes doubly excited when I discuss with 
her. At certain moments it seems as though 

O 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


169 


she wished to try me. As to myself, what mat- 
ters political ideas, social theories ? What is the 
entire world except her ? All the problems of 
mankind are reduced to one question. Will An- 
toinette de Louarn love me some day 
“ Probably,” said Ferr4ol ; ‘‘ for you cast at her 
feet the burnt-offerings that women prefer, — good 
sense and reason. Allow me to tell you that 
this dreadful sacrifice shows in a man who offers 
it more passion than true love.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

While Adrien was on his way home, Mademoi- 
selle de Louarn was undressing herself in her 
modest bedchamber. But soon her hands fell 
motionless by her side, — a thought was agitating 
her brain. After the events of the evening, she 
feared that she had hitherto overrated her own 
nature. For two days she had awaited, with an 
anxiety not wholly devoid of charm, the moment 
to meet the marquis again. She dreamed of the 
torture, the excitement of a struggle with her 
own heart, the noble anguish of suppressed emo- 
tions, a dearly-bought victory, — for she hoped to 
conquer. She had not forgotten her promise to 
Adrien of belonging to him some day, if he still 
aspired to possess the fragments of a lacerated 


170 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

heart. She had experienced a sort of inward 
humiliation upon finding that she was quite 
calm, almost disposed to laugh at herself in the 
presence of Villegarde. Her hero, stripped of 
his cap, his hunting-knife and horn, clad in his 
conventional dress-suit and patent-leather shoes, 
had become a mere man, even though superior 
to many others. He always retained the high- 
bred air and fine carriage of a well-preserved 
man of fifty, but nevertheless, beneath the bright 
lights of the salon, age told. Antoinette, instead 
of completing her toilette for the night, asked 
herself, — 

‘^What should I do now were I engaged to 
this grey-moustached gentleman? Would I 
marry him 

Involuntarily she turned her eyes towards a 
glass, and there saw the reflection of her young 
and triumphant beauty, the faultless lines of 
her shoulders. As she was contemplating this 
image, she fancied she perceived scintillate in 
the background the light of two black eyes, 
sparkling with passion. For the first time, she 
felt a thrill — was it of anger? — as she realised 
what these eyes were saying : “ I await my hour.” 

The marquis was forgotten, and it was Adrien’s 
hour which filled her thoughts. Would the bell 
ever ring out for him this time of “ forgetfulness 
and love,” the very words of her audacious 
lover? Already disgusted with herself, she 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


171 


understood that sometimes forgetfulness comes 
very quickly. 'VYas not the conversation in 
the forester’s lodge a mere dream after all ? 
Doubtless the marquis had believed that he was 
witnessing one of those storms in the feminine 
breast that a man experienced in life should 
not have ridiculed. This was why he had 
shown himself so paternal, so generous. For 
shame ! there had been no storm, but only the 
momentary enthusiasm of an ill-bred, an ill- 
educated school-girl, and there remained noth- 
ing, nothing but her bitter self-mockery. The 
tortures, the struggles, the wounded love ; what 
a comedy! She was no longer sutfering, her 
heart was intact. She was infinitely obliged to 
Yillegarde for treating her as he should have 
done. A sigh escaped her : “ Mon Dieu ! what 
sort of woman am I, then ?” 

The mirror replied anew that she was a woman 
in the splendour of youth and beauty. She saw 
the rich crimson of her lips, the pure marble 
of her shoulders, at this moment — she even saw 
something more. She felt an intense need of 
some intoxication, in which she might abandon 
and prostrate herself in order to shake off her 
too heavy thoughts. Suddenly she fancied she 
perceived again in the shadow the sparkling light 
of those same devouring eyes which awaited 
their hour. Stifiing a cry, she extinguished the 
candles and finished her toilette in darkness. 


172 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


A few days afterwards, the marquis, out of 
politeness, called at Pierre de Louarn’s. To tell 
the truth, he did not expect to be admitted, 
knowing that the “ publicist ” was rarely at 
home, and not supposing that his daughter 
would receive him when she was alone. 

But she was not alone, and Perreol was intro- 
duced into a parlour, where he could scarcely 
see, and was somewhat curtly presented to a 
little, grey-haired, ill-dressed woman, whose 
name he did not catch. Indeed, he made no 
eftbrt to do so, as the stranger seemed second- 
rate and did not interest him. After a few com- 
monplace phrases, Antoinette suddenly said, — 

“I am sure. Monsieur de Villegarde, you 
could never guess where I was yesterday with 
madame; so I will tell you. I was at Mor- 
niere.’’ 

“ At Morni^re !” exclaimed Ferreol, aston- 
ished. Great heavens ! what were you doing 
there 

“ I was there to distribute bread to those 
unfortunate beings who have no money to buy 
it. You know that the quarry men and stone- 
cutters are on a strike. We visited Souppes, 
Ch^teau-Landon, and some other villages, where 
we found frightful misery. What an excursion ! 
There was no resemblance to our hunts of last 
autumn, I assure you.’’ 

“You mean,” stammered the bewildered 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 173 

Yillegarde, “that you went to encourage the 
strikers ? And — ^your father approved of it ?” 

It was the stranger who replied in a metallic 
voice, worn out rather than broken, which lacked 
certain musical intonations. The very sound of 
this voice, which betrayed extreme fatigue and 
had a rather theatrical accent, wearied and some- 
what irritated the listener. 

“ Pierre de Louarn is seeking to give a God to 
labourers. Could he blame his daughter if she 
wishes to give them bread 

“ I presume,” coldly articulated Yillegarde, 
“ that I have the pleasure of being in the pres- 
ence of ‘Madame Renee,’ the journalistic lec- 
turer ?” 

She replied, chilled by this stiffness, in which 
she divined little sympathy, — 

“ When I have recourse to pen or speech, it is 
always against my will, and with but one object, 
— to relieve those who suffer.” 

“ To enlighten them sometimes would also be 
a good work,” said Ferreol. “But our age, 
which places the ideal of happiness in material 
enjoyment, must consider suffering as the only 
evil.” 

“ Would you like to have us, then, go back to 
the asceticism of the Middle Ages, when suffer- 
ing and death were blessings ?” 

“ Ho, madame ; rest easy. I would not go 
back to the Middle Ages ; but I should prefer 
15 * 


174 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


that in the criminal who suffers, the crime should 
be considered first and his suffering second.” 

“But the strikers are not criminals.” 

“You have not only strikers as proUg^. 
Speaking only of this strike, — of strikes in 
general, — the leaders are simply egoists ; those 
who sustain them, poor, credulous fools, indif- 
ferent to the hunger which gnaws the stomachs 
of their little ones.” 

“ There is no war without famine. Did you 
never want for bread when fighting for France ?” 

“ Oh, yes ! but your quarrymen are not fight- 
ing for France. Every strike is a victory of an 
economical order won by our enemies.” 

“ You are a man and an aristocrat,” said 
“Een^e,” rising. “E'ever will you be able to 
come to an understanding with the ideas of the 
working-class woman which stirs in me.” 

Antoinette had not said a word, enjoying the 
pleasure she had managed to give herself in dis- 
pleasing the marquis. Alone with Mademoiselle 
de Louarn, Ferreol asked, — 

“ Are you not afraid that the newspapers will 
publish your adventure? What a scandal, if 
they mentioned it.” 

Antoinette answered, — 

“ hTo one knows the name of the person who 
accompanied ‘Eenee’ save Abb6 Esminjeaud, 
who saw us. But he will be silent. And, be- 
sides, what harm did I do ? To distribute bread 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


175 


to the hungry is not a thing forbidden, even to 
the most strictly brought up girl of the Fau- 
bourg.” 

“ 1^0, that is true ; but ‘ Ilen4e,’ — I know that 
she has grey hair and wears her heart upon her 
sleeve, nevertheless she is compromising.” 

“ That is not my father’s opinion.” 

“ Ah, your father. If I knew him better ” 

“ Well, what would you do ?” 

“I should tell him, mademoiselle, that his 
daughter puts the attachment of a friend of 
mine to a great test. I should then beg him to 
transmit this observation to a person interested, 
— I mean yourself.” 

“ Your message shall be delivered,” answered 
Mademoiselle de Louarn, without smiling. “ But 
the trouble is that this person is not interested. 
She must be taken as she is, will be, and, above 
all, wishes to be, or else be abandoned to her un- 
happy destiny. If some day she should become 
the wife of a rich man, much of her husband’s 
money will pass through the hands of ‘ Renee,’ 
or be distributed according to her advice.” 

‘ Ren6e’ decidedly rules you. I should have 
thought that it was more difficult to gain an in- 
fluence over your father’s daughter.” 

How have you formed that opinion? You 
have never tried to gain any influence, and now 
it is too late. Yes, I admire this courageous 
woman, whose friend I am in spite of your re- 


176 /A" QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

proach. She has found her ideal, — compas- 
sion.’’ 

‘^When bestowed, whether deserved or not, 
compassion is an honourable sickness of the 
soul, — a sort of generous bulimy. As for my- 
self, I should prefer charity, which is a sound 
and healthy appetite. The dream of your new 
friend is a kind of ‘ Society for the Protection 
of Animals,’ — ^human animals, I mean, even 
though they be beasts of prey. You will have 
some annoyances from your ideal, at least such 
as you understand it.” 

A first annoyance, which was easy to foresee, 
was an attack on Antoinette. Her incognito of 
the evening before was not so well preserved as 
she had thought. A short time after the depart- 
ure of the marquis, another visitor rang the bell 
and insisted upon seeing her, even though Made- 
moiselle de Louarn was alone. Adrien, for it 
was he, held an evening paper in his hand and 
seemed greatly excited. Without saying a word, 
he handed Antoinette the paper with an account 
of the strike, in nowise enthusiastic. The affair, 
however, was not taken seriously, considering its 
small number of adherents and the local char- 
acter of the industry. And for this very reason 
the rdle of ‘^Ren§e” on the occasion came near 
being ridiculed. It derided her open subscrip- 
tion and her appearance among the strikers. But 
a more serious thing, the paper mentioned her 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


177 


mysterious companion, daughter of a man 
well known for his work in the labour ques- 
tion.” The too-gallant journal added, “ This 
young citizen, who possesses rare beauty, had no 
fear of herself nursing the wounds of Barillot, 
slightly scratched in a brawl. Did we give the 
portrait of the voluntary nurse, there would be 
a general scuffle in the hope of securing her 
services.” 

“Is it credible,” said La Houssaye, “you 
went among these men quite alone with ‘ Ee- 
nee’ ?” 

He seemed to have difflculty to restrain his 
anger, which immediately caused feelings of 
revolt in Mademoiselle de Louarn. However, 
she answered, without raising her voice, — 

“ In no salon have your equals ever treated me 
with more respect. I was there to do good to 
the labourers. They were suffering so much.” 

“ And this miserable fellow who wrote these 
lines, he respects you, also, does he not ? Oh ! 
to see you blamed, criticised, judged like an 
ordinary woman, you! To read these jokes 
which debase you to the common level ! To 
think that Antoinette de Louarn, the queen, my 
queen, to whom I ought to speak only on my 
knees, to think that she is the subject of a re- 
porter’s article for which he has been paid twenty- 
five francs. But what are your father and brother 
about ? Ah ! if I could ” 


m 


178 qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

“If you could what?” said Antoinette. 
“ Pierce the body of the man who has in your 
eyes uncrowned me ?” 

“In order that you might nurse him, too? 
hTo ; what would he best for my happiness would 
be to love you no longer. For you ridicule me ; 
you defy me. I see it well. Great Heavens ! 
what is in store for me — later ? To what extent 
will you push your defiance and my humiliation? 
Antoinette, promise me to have pity and not 
commit such follies again. I love you so much, 
and I am so weak in your presence ! Put an 
end to this nightmare, to this trial which is kill- 
ing me. Be mine to-morrow, and live the life 
that such a woman as you should live.” 

He was feeling too much moved himself to 
notice the tumultuous agitation which was 
causing Antoinette’s bosom to heave. Had he 
at this moment seized her in his arms, the trial, 
perhaps, would have ended. But already she 
had had time to picture in her imagination his 
smile when the marquis would hear the news of 
the marriage. She fancied she heard him sneer, 
and with a shrug of the shoulders say, — 

“ Six months ! She only needed six months 
to be cured of her great love for me !” 

At the same time Adrien’s eyes caused her to 
feel the same thrill she had experienced last 
night. . . . She answered, endeavouring to make 
her voice heard, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 179 

‘‘You forget our compact. Until Novem- 
ber, I am my own mistress. My father alone 
has the right to take me to task. Let your con- 
science judge me. You are free to condemn 
me, free to love another, and that would he best ; 
we do not understand life in the same way.’’ 

“ What harm these people have done to you,” 
exclaimed the young man, clasping his hands. 
“ Thomassin, Madame Montgodfroy, and this 
crazy woman who drags you with her to riots. 
I shall say to your father ” 

Antoinette stopped Arien ; placing a finger on 
his shoulder, and contracting her eyebrows, she 
said, — 

“You will say nothing to my father, my 
brother, nor to any one else, or you will lose me 
forever. If I disgust you, go away and never 
return.” 

They parted after these words, which, as a 
rule, bring back a lover vanquished and docile, 
— a fact all women know well. 


CHAPTEE XIY. 

The next morning, at an early hour, Villegarde 
rang at La Houssaye’s lodgings, who, not being 
disposed to ride, had just sent his horse away. 

“ I counted upon writing you a few lines,” said 


180 IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Ferreol. “ I did not think you would avoid the 
Bois in such admirable weather.” 

“ But you, too, are evidently avoiding it,” an- 
swered the young man. 

“ Because I am about to leave for my estate. 
I have no quarrymen, thank God, but I have 
forests. 1^0 w, strikes lead to poaching. My head 
gamekeeper writes me that official charges are 
accumulating, which naturally increases the 
agitation among my starving neighbours. I am 
going to take a look round, and came to tell you. 
But, by the way, what do you say of a raid of 
two or three days beneath the new-born foli- 
age ?” 

“ A capital idea !” said Adrien ; and, if it is 
necessary to fight it out, count on my assistance. 
That would settle my nerves.” 

At the same time he looked significantly at 
his panoply. Ferreol replied, seriously, — 

‘‘That is just it; we must not fight it out. 
You are very ferocious, to-day !” 

“ Grant that I am ferocious. By Jove ! the 
strikers have only to come in my way, if they 
want to give employment to nurses !” 

“ Oh ! I see you have read that paper. Bo not 
attach too much importance to a pretty woman’s 
caprice. It is a privilege which you must allow 
the sex.” 

“You mean that I shall see something more? 
Possibly! In the meanwhile, I will go away 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 181 

with you, so much the more readily that Ahbe 
Esminjeaud will do me good.” 

“So be it,” concluded Ferreol. “We will 
have him to dinner to-morrow evening.” 

Adrien himself carried the invitation to the 
cure of Morniere. He followed the road on 
foot, wishing to return with the holy priest, who 
never voluntarily entered a carriage. 

Adrien no longer recognised the village, where 
ordinarily were to be seen only women, the mas- 
culine portion being at the quarries. To-day, 
the men in their blouses, covered with mud and 
white dust, had formed into groups, in which the 
silence of a dull disquietude had already begun 
to reign. At the sight of a monsieur, an un- 
known type in this isolated corner, their eyes 
grew animated. Perhaps he was a Parisian 
journalist, or even, who knows ? some one from 
the Chamber. The strike, raised by local leaders 
up to now, had not attracted attention, in spite 
of the promises of the organisers. Ho doubt 
there would be a meeting. “ Meeting !” A word 
big with hope for the labourers, always deceived, 
always discontended with their lot. But a fellow 
who knew Adrien said quite aloud, — 

“Depend upon it! he is FerreoTs and the 
priest’s friend.” 

In the twinkling of an eye their physiognomies 
grew surly. So much grumbling was heard, that 
Adrien could fancy himself back in his factory 
16 


182 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

at Coueron during one of the riots. But that 
which he saw to-day was merely a shower com- 
pared to the storms of yore. The idea that Made- 
moiselle de Louarn had spoken to these men, 
that at least she had accompanied the one who did 
speak, was for him an insupportable bitterness. 
And this name of “voluntary nurse” of the 
strike given to her by a newspaper. At this 
hour Antoinette was not present to defend her- 
self with the irresistible argument of her beauty. 

In the little church, already quite dark, Abbe 
Esminjeaud was performing the duty of sacristan 
out of economy, the salary of the vacant office 
being given to the poor. He had just filled the 
“ vielleuse ” of the sanctuary and lighted the 
lamp which every night burned at the foot of 
the Virgin, the cost defrayed by Louise. Sud- 
denly a masculine form emerged from the pe- 
numbra. It was Adrien. 

“ What a surprise,” said the cure ; “ I hope 
there is nothing amiss at Yillegarde.” 

“ Ho ; but it is safer to be on hand. I have 
come to tell you that your plate is laid at the 
chateau. Let us go.” 

“ Certainly ; only let me ring the ‘ Angelus,’ 
and I will accompany you.” 

They gained the porch, where, through an 
opening in the ceiling, was suspended a rope, 
polished by handling. 

The abbe rang three times, then recited aloud 


IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


183 


the Madrigale Ang^ique., by which one woman 
only, since the beginning of the world, has been 
saluted. In the middle he stopped, by habit, and 
Le Houssaye responded, as he had done many 
years before at his mother’s knee. Three times 
the bell sounded, and the prayer of a saint, 
mingled with that of an unhappy heart, awakened 
the echoes rarely disturbed in this little church. 

“ I have not lost my day,” said the priest. “ I 
have caused your lips to utter a name which 
always brings happiness. Tell me, is it not good 
to pray ?” He seemed moved with joy, as if in 
truth he had accomplished an important work. 
Adrien replied, — 

“I feel younger and very calm, and I long 
to say, as I did twenty-five years ago after my 
prayer, ‘ Bon soir, mamma.’ Dieu, if I could 
only return to that period of my life when some 
one loved me.” 

He sighed aloud, and it was easy to be seen 
that his heart was oppressed with a heavy load. 
Suddenly, with a gesture which betokened that 
he wished to get rid of certain thoughts, he 
said, — 

‘‘ Come quickly ; it is late.” 

Abbe Esminjeaud watched him with close 
attention, curious to see what unknown senti- 
ment was working in his soul. He was so much 
absorbed that he did not reply to La Houssaye, 
and the two started, passing several groups of 


184 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

men, who sent after them some not very cour- 
teous exclamations. After a few moments they 
entered the forest ; the great oaks were still dark, 
scarcely showing their buds; but away in the 
horizon, through the glades, could be seen fields 
of golden buttercups heightened by the glare of 
the setting sun. 

From the boundaries of this kingdom of 
silence and repose one felt an atmosphere so 
new, impressions so difierent, that one would 
not have been surprised to have heard the 
passers-by speak in an unknown tongue. But 
there were no passers-by. The only voice that 
broke this solitude was the wail of the cuckoo, 
sending back to each other their never-changing 
minor thirds, so wonderfully appropriate to this 
hour and place. 

As they reached the first turning of the road, 
the abb^ questioned his companion, — 

“ You are not taking the path ? It is shorter.” 

Yes ; but it is impossible to walk for two steps 
abreast, and I have something that I want to 
say to you.” 

The young man was apparently studying his 
phrase, then he posed this question, — 

“ You saw Mademoiselle de Louarn ? What 
a risky adventure, and in what society ! What 
did she do and what did she say? What do 
you think of her ?” 

“ Oh !” said the priest, ‘‘ I am a bad judge in 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


185 


such a case. The ‘ risky adventure/ as you call 
it, might shock a man of the world. To the 
eyes of a disciple of Jesus, who ought to have 
before all wisdom ‘ the madness of the cross,’ 
this charitable zeal, even though unreasonable, 
is not a crime without remission. So far as I 
know, Mademoiselle de Louarn said nothing, but 
looked at things a great deal. On the contrary, 
her companion uttered too many phrases which 
were not understood. But the labourers are 
only gt*own-up children, who like to be cared 
for and pitied, and to have their burning fore- 
heads cooled ; to be told ‘ the evil will be cured.’ 
Women are marvellously constituted for this rdle^ 
and Thomassin is almost a great man to have 
understood this.” 

“But this wounded man, this striker, whom 
she nursed ? There she is now exposed to criti- 
cisms in the newspapers. Some applaud, while 
others ridicule her. Fortunately, her name has 
not been printed.” 

“ And if it were ?” said the abbe, looking at 
his interlocutor; “how conventionality weighs 
in human judgment ! Moreover, the episode has 
been transformed, which renders it still better 
for the heroine whose role was a little naif. Her 
wounded man is no more a striker than you or I, 
for the reason that he has never held a tool in 
his hand. The gamekeepers have known this 
Barillot for a long time as the worst of my 
16 * 


186 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

parishioners, a prison-bird, a marauder, poacher, 
and capable of many things. The most amusing 
part is that he was wounded by the wife of one 
of the strikers for having stolen her poultry, 
thinking that everyone had gone to the meeting. 
By chance I happened to witness the scene. 
The shrew’s hand was so heavy and her cudgel 
so hard that Barillot trotted home with a bleed- 
ing forehead, when he encountered ‘ Ben6e’ and 
— ^you know whom. Women are often deceived 
when they listen to the promptings of their 
good hearts.” 

“You did not undeceive Mademoiselle de 
Louarn ?” 

“ To what purpose ? She was happy to adorn 
this lover of chickens with a bandeau, which, 
moreover, he has preserved as a mark of bravery. 
I saw it a moment ago. The rble of Barillot has 
been cut out; ‘he is the wounded man of the 
strike,’ and he was indispensable since the news- 
papers have crowned him with this title. In 
short, everybody is happy. A charitable woman 
has made use of her linen and lint. Need you 
repudiate it as a crime ? She said nothing, and 
limited herself to giving a piece of forty sous, 
whilst ‘Ren§e’ addressed the crowd. I would 
not swear that the money as well as the bandage 
have been bestowed suitably. But God only 
asks for good-will. ” 

La Houssaye did not reply. In his apostolic 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 187 

simplicity, AbbeEsminjeaud defended Antoinette 
as certain inexperienced lawyers defend their 
clients, in a way to irritate the nerves of the 
judge. A passionate lover suffers less, perhaps, 
if he sees his idol skirt a crime than if he sees 
her touched by ridicule. Oh! how little did 
this sainted cure know the human heart ! Un- 
less — ^but how believe that he was voluntarily 
maladroit — he knew more of another love than 
the love of hearts ? 

After a silence, Adrien asked, as though he 
had been touched by a shadow of a doubt, — 

“ You are my friend V’ 

You are one of the three people whom I love 
best in the world,” replied the abbe. 

And, pointing to the roof of Yillegarde, which 
could be seen in the distance, he added, — 

“ This is the habitation of the dearest of my 
three friends. Is he not yours, also ?” 

“ Most certainly. But who holds the second 
place in your friendship ?” 

Mademoiselle Montgodfroy.” 

‘‘ Pooh ! She is a child.” 

‘‘ Would to heaven there were many such chil- 
dren. ]^o one knows the good she does, which 
she gives me the means to do. You have never 
asked the reason why she dresses like a maid, as 
her father says. Without her, without her uncle, 
and without you, my third friend, the poor 
parishioners of Morniere would have been minus 


188 


IN QUEST OF THE WEAL. 


a cure a long time ago. He would have died of 
starvation. So, how hard do I pray that you 
may all three be happy.” 

Two of your prayers out of the three have 
been heard, so you must not complain,” said La 
Houssaye. 

“I should not complain were such the case, 
but everything tends to show that the proportion 
is not so great.” 

The two companions walked a hundred paces 
in silence, and then Adrien put a question which 
was not new on his lips, — 

“What do you think of Mademoiselle de 
Louarn ?” 

“ Allow me to turn my tongue seven times,” 
replied the abbe, smiling, “ for this is what you 
desire to know. Is this young girl good, seri- 
ous, faithful, devoted ? Does she possess a warm 
heart as well as an infallible judgment? Does 
she combine a poet’s imagination with the cold 
maturity of a philosopher? In a word, is she 
worthy not only of seeing God one day, but, still 
more, to be the wife of Adrien La Houssaye, a 
terrestrial crown more difficult to merit than the 
celestial one ? And if I should tell you, conceited 
man, like all men, that this creature is perfection, 
and that, therefore, you are not worthy of her, 
what would you say ?” 

“ Such as she is, I do not believe myself to be 
worthy of her,” said Adrien, who in truth had 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


189 


not the defect of conceit. ‘‘But do you think 
she will lead me, an untamed chimera, towards 
the abyss where death is found 

“The unction of the priesthood does not 
confer the gift of prophecy. Mademoiselle de 
Louarn may have deceived herself ; she may do 
so again. Let us not condemn her too quickly. 
She has no mother. And, unfortunately, Pierre 
de Louarn is a dangerous sort of star-gazer. I 
don’t mean that he will fall into the well, but he 
forgets too easily that he has a daughter who 
also is seeking her star. But beware of those 
telescopes which impede the sight! The eyes 
of Faith, my friend; that is what can guide 
better than all instruments and keep individuals 
and nations from the abyss.” 

Ferreol de Yillegarde came to greet his 
guests. It was necessary to change the con- 
versation. At dinner, the morning papers were 
received, which contained a piece of news. 
During the night, the Anarchist who had thrown 
one of the last bombs had been condemned to 
death. As Adrien manifested an almost savage 
joy, the abbe said, — 

“ If you love the sight of blood, you, a wise 
man and happy in your life, what can be ex- 
pected from the others?” 

Adrien shrugged his shoulders, which meant 
a good deal respecting his happiness, perhaps 
even his wisdom. He replied, — 


190 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Can one expect anything from anybody or 
anything in this world ?” 

‘‘ Cx'pit contrisiarir sighed Abbe Esminjeaud. 
“ The Mount of Olives is a pilgrimage that we 
all make when our time comes. May you re- 
awaken to joy.” 

“ If the strike continues,” said Ferreol, “ we 
will see some riots between the villagers and 
my men. Some hundreds of starving fellows, 
or simply those unwilling to work, are scarcely 
desirable neighbours. I, too, feel discouraged. 
Were it not a question of an estate which bears 
my name, I would do as you have done, Adrien, 
— I should go away.” 

In the state of mind of the three friends, the 
dinner and the moments which followed natu- 
rally partook of a dark and melancholy tone. 
After an evening shorter than usual, the cure 
rose and took leave. As he put his hand in his 
pocket, he suddenly paled and cried out, — 

“ Mon Dieu ! I have forgotten to lock up the 
church. And all these men who encumber the 
place !” 

“Well, one would say that you had the 
treasure of ^lotre Dame,” said the marquis, 
laughing. “ What in the devil could one 
take in your cathedral? A ciborium of two 
louis ?” 

“You forget what this ciborium contains,” 
groaned the poor abbe, who trembled in every 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


191 


limb. “ Adieu ! I shall run there. God grant 
that no one has discovered my carelessness !” 

“ I will accompany you/’ said Adrien, “ for I 
was the cause of your distraction. It shall 
never he said that I abandoned you in your 
anxiety.” 

Five minutes later the two were running 
rather than walking in the direction of Morniere. 
As they neared the exit of the woods, two game- 
keepers, attracted by this hurried gait, sprang 
from an ambuscade and barred the way. 

“ These fellows are in a devilish hurry,” said 
one of the men. 

The other nudged his comrade as he uncovered 
his head. 

“ Monsieur le Cur4 and Monsieur La Hous- 
saye, is there something wrong at Morniere ?” 

“It is to be hoped not,” replied Adrien. 
“ The church was left open by mistake, and 
Monsieur le Cur4 is very anxious.” 

“ Oh, there is no danger,” said the game- 
keepers, for whom the subject lost all interest 
since it was not a question of poaching. 

Half after ten had just sounded when the 
abbe and his companion arrived at the church, 
which stood at the extremity of the village, 
nearest to the woods. Skirting the building, 
dimly lighted, they reached the porch, just 
beyond a spot deserted at this hour. In this 
calm and very dark night a favourite song of the 


192 IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

stone-cutters reached them, shouted by a crowd, 
compelled, no doubt, to howl outside for the lack 
of credit at the public house, — 

“ En entrant dans Lyon, 

J’ admire ces beaux ponts 
Faits par nos compagnons I ’ ’ 

The minor melody, evidently old, had, thanks 
to the distance, a strange sweetness. Adrien 
La Houssaye sometimes hums it yet, so much 
are certain details imprinted on the memory at 
unforgotten hours of our lives. In the mean- 
while, Abb6 Esminjeaud silently turned the 
handle of the door, and, in quite a low voice, he 
said, — 

‘‘ God be praised. Some one has locked the 
door and taken the keys ; but where are they ?” 

Adrien drew near and tried to peep through 
the key-hole. He uttered a muffled exclamation, 
and pulling out his knife he tried vainly to in- 
troduce a blade. He attempted to peep through 
again, then, suddenly putting his lips to the 
curb’s ear, he whispered, — 

“ The door is locked on the inside ; the key 
is on the interior.’’ 

“ Grand Dieu ! Some one, then, is in the 
church.” 

‘‘ Keep silent, and come with me.” 

In two minutes, using the shoulders of the 
cur6 as a ladder, Adrien clung to the bars of 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 193 

one of the windows, and let himself drop with 
the agility of a cat. 

‘‘ Control yourself ; there is a man in the choir ; 
a man alone, if I am not mistaken.” 

“We must call for help.” 

“ Call whom — the strikers ? I would not give 
a straw for them. Do not let us lose our heads, 
but take counsel.” 

“ Take counsel while a dreadful sacrilege is 
being committed not two steps from us !” 

Pulling out his handkerchief, the poor abb6 
mopped the drops of cold perspiration from his 
brow. La Houssaye asked, — 

“ Has the church a second entrance ?” 

“ Yes, at the apsis. But the door is closed by 
a bolt.” 

“Well, then, here is what you must do. 
Reach this door and bang with your fists. The 
man will be frightened, and will save himself by 
the principal entrance, where I will await him.” 

“ And if he kills you ?” 

“ Oh, I am not so easy to kill. Run quickly ; 
look out for your Hosts.” 

The ecclesiastic had regained an appearance 
of calm. Raising his hand, he made the sign 
of the cross on Adrien’s forehead. 

“ May Jesus Christ absolve you ! Should you 
die, it will be as a martyr. But, in God’s name, 
don’t kill.” 

The cur6 went round to the other door while 
in 17 


194 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

his companion lay in waiting under the porch. 
The young man did not wait long. Some vig- 
orous blows awoke the echoes inside. Almost 
immediately the latch was turned, — a feeble light 
showed the malefactor armed with a pistol. 

Abb4 Esminjeaud kept on striking hard the 
oak doors. Suddenly the report of a fire-arm 
reached his ears. The stone-cutters’ song sud- 
denly ceased. 

“ He is dead ! And through my fault,” cried 
the priest, springing towards the open door. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Adrien was neither dead nor wounded. He 
had seen the barrel of a pistol shining, and had 
sprung just in time at the hand of the thief, 
who, moreover, was only provided with an old 
horse-pistol. In trying to secure him he grasped 
at his waistcoat, which, unluckily, was in tatters, 
and came away in the hand of La Houssaye. 
Eor a few moments the man believed that he 
was saved. 

He scampered away to the plain like a race- 
horse, not daring to leave the road, easy to dis- 
tinguish in the darkness. Some one was on his 
pursuit, and he had to gain the woods. At first 
he took the lead, but he had more speed than 


IN QUEST OF THE WEAL. 


195 


endurance. The footsteps of the unknown pur- 
suer grew nearer. Already, in the obscurity, he 
saw at a very short distance a huge dark wall, — 
the forest and salvation. 

Suddenly a sonorous voice, accustomed to far- 
away calls, broke the stillness of the night, — 
Ecoute, ecoute tayaut /” 

And each minute Adrien repeated, as though 
he was encouraging the hounds separated from 
the pack, — 

“ &oiitey ecoute !” 

He succeeded so well, that at the moment 
when the thief thought to find in the darkness 
a path through the copse, two gamekeepers 
sprang from a fence and grabbed him like an 
exhausted hare. Blowing hard, the man tried 
to say, — 

“ What do you want with me ? I am doing 
no harm. I have no gun.” 

At the same instant La Houssaye appeared, 
continuing his cries. 

‘‘Monsieur,” said one of the gamekeepers, 
“ the beast is captured, — fox or wolf? I don’t 
know. The relay was at hand.” 

“ Let us see the beast, first,” said Adrien, 
taking breath. “ Can you give us a light, Ber- 
trand? Do not be afraid. I am holding the 
tramp. He will not get away again. I have 
surprised him robbing the tabernacle of the 
church.” 


196 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

“You are breaking my wrist,” whined the 
fellow. 

“Shut up, you dog! You wished to break 
more than my wrist a moment ago with your 
pistol.” 

“That is what we heard, then,” said Ber- 
trand. “We were watching for your return, 
when the report startled us, even before we 
recognised your voice. What! it is Barillot !” 

The light of a pocket lantern showed a very 
young man, a regular tramp in appearance. He 
wore around his forehead a bandage almost as 
dirty as the rest of his attire. Adrien knitted 
his eyebrows, and asked, — 

“ Who put this bandage on you ?” 

“ A pretty girl, mister. If many such would 
fall from the skies, I should leave my window 
open at night. Oh, me ! my wrist !” 

It was not the wrist, but the throat of Barillot 
that Adrien longed to grasp in his powerful grip 
as he said to himself, — 

“ To know that she is desecrated by the jokes 
of these brutes ! She, whom I have called my 
queen. And this is the man who has been 
touched by the hands of Antoinette, — those 
hands which merely to kiss thrills me.” 

In the meanwhile the gamekeepers were 
searching the captive, who endured the trial as a 
man to whom the operation was not new. At 
first, nothing suspicious was found on him. Ba- 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 197 

rillot had evidently been interrupted before he 
could touch the sacred vessel. A more careful 
examination brought to light a gold medallion in 
the shape of a heart, which gave cause for legiti- 
mate suspicion. It was undoubtedly new, as 
well as the ribbon to which it was attached. 

“ In what shop did you steal this?” said Adrien, 
turning the object round in his fingers. 

With the ignoble accent of a ruffian, the man 
replied, — 

‘‘ Stolen ? Why should I have stolen it, then ? 
Didn’t your best girl never make you a present ?” 

“ Let us leave some work for the judge,” said 
Adrien, putting the medallion in his pocket. 
“ It is a question, now, of lodging this fine speci- 
men in a place of safety.” 

“ At the Maine f* said Bertrand. 

‘‘ Ho, my friend, at your lodge. I would not 
trust the strikers. Let us start ; when we have 
this rascal under lock and key, we will send for 
the gendarmes.” 

“Death to the ‘Cognards,’ Vive ranarchie” 
howled Barillot, who had been well trained. 

“You sing a little too loudly,” said Adrien, 
drawing his handkerchief from his pocket. 

He gagged this fanatic, whose cries might 
attract a greater crowd of curious people than 
there was any necessity for. This precaution 
taken, they started. Each of the marquis’s men 
held Barillot by an arm. Adrien followed, ab- 
17 * 


198 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

sorbed in his reflections. For the sake of pru- 
dence, they had extinguished the lantern. At 
the end of half an hour they reached the lodge. 
There they shoved the thief into a low room, 
where each movement of his could be watched, 
while one of the men galloped to the police sta- 
tion. It was wise to profit by the night in order 
to transfer a prisoner of this class across an over- 
excited country. Adrien could not regain the 
chateau without giving his evidence, which 
would establish the flagrante delicto. Alone in 
the adjoining room, he waited, revolving in his 
mind certain depressing reflections. In order to 
divert his thoughts, he examined the medallion 
found on Barillot. 

A stolen object, without doubt; but where 
from? Mechanically he began fingering the 
hinge, a bit of writing fell out. Greatly puzzled. 
La Houssaye unfolded the scrap of paper, and 
distinguished some lines of microscopical writ- 
ing, easy to read, however, by the light of a 
single candle. This note, which he did not 
understand, was couched in the following terms ; 

“ L. M. makes a vow to go 
to Lourdes with her husband, 
if this husband he A. H.” 

At least, one thing was easy to understand ; he 
had between his fingers a votive ofiering, which, 
no doubt, had been placed around the neck of 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


199 


the Madonna. But it was not probable that a 
young girl of Morniere could make a gold offer- 
ing of several louis, still less that she could have 
an idea of such a wedding journey. Barillot 
had then entered some other chapel. 

Adrien thought to himself, not without smil- 
ing a little, — 

“ How funny ! Here am I, in spite of myself, 
the depositary of a love secret. Poor girl, who- 
ever you are, your story shall not be mixed up 
with BarilloPs affairs.” 

He shut up the medallion, keeping the written 
lines to avoid the idle gossip of the court. 
Whilst he was defrauding the magistrate, a 
light knock was heard at the door. It was the 
head gamekeeper’s daughter, who brought her 
master’s friend a plate of hot soup. It was one 
o’clock in the morning ; who could tell at what 
hour Adrien would be able to go to bed ? 
Awakened by her father, the pretty brunette 
had set quickly to work, and in a few minutes 
had prepared one of those comforting broths of 
which the foresters have the secret. ‘‘ Monsieur 
Adrien must be famishing ; he had run so much, 
to say nothing of his having seen death so near !'’ 

“ I have scarcely seen it, Fanchette. But it 
seems it would have been a martyr’s ; Monsieur 
le Cure said so. Is it not a shame that Barillot 
has missed me ? You would have had my statue 
in your church, with a golden circle around my 


200 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

head and a horse-pistol in my hand. If I am 
not mistaken, the martyrs are always repre- 
sented to the veneration of the faithful bearing 
their instruments of torture.” 

‘‘Do not joke, monsieur,” replied Fanchette, 
who was very pious. “ What terrible profana- 
tion! I hope that the tabernacle has not been 
touched I Such a sacrilege. Our sainted cure 
would die of grief.” 

“ I think that the tabernacle is safe. At least, 
no sacred vessel was found on the man, — only 
this golden medallion.” 

“ Oh, monsieur,” cried the young girl, at the 
sight of the stolen object, “ one would say it is 
a votive offering to our Lady.” 

“ Do you think so ?” asked Adrien, shaking 
his head. “It is of gold. Look; here is the 
mark. Do you think that there are devotees in 
this village sufficiently rich to make an offering 
of several louis to the church ?” 

“Ho, monsieur; but report says that it is 
Mademoiselle Montgodfroy who gave it. Ho 
doubt our cure would be able to tell you more 
about it. But I think that he will refuse to say 
anything. These things ought to be kept secret. 
If you make a vow to the Virgin, she alone 
ought to know it ; otherwise, you will not get 
what you want.” 

Adrien was no longer eating. He repeated, 
in a distrait voice, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 201 

“ Ah ! indeed. It is Mademoiselle Montgod- 
froy!” 

Then, after a silence, — 

“Fanchette, your soup is delicious ; but I am 
no longer hungry. Leave me now. I hope that 
the gendarmes will arrive soon.” 

When alone, he once more unfolded the paper 
with an unsteady hand. He might have been 
heard to murmur, — 

“ L. M. : Louise Montgodfroy — ^to A. H. : 
Adrien La Houssaye. My heavens ! is it pos- 
sible ? Oh ! the poor child !” 

He could not have told how long a time 
elapsed before the entrance on the scene of the 
public police, and, even during the august cross- 
examination of the gendarmes, he seemed to be 
thinking of something else. Finally, he signed 
the official report, which stated, in a droll and 
bombastic style, the delivery of the articles of 
conviction; a pistol ‘‘of a form antique and 
superannuated, but still efficacious also, “ an 
article provisionally in gold, use unknown, of the 
size and form approximating a rabbit’s heart.” 
Of course, it can be imagined that the mys- 
terious lines were not mentioned in the inven- 
tory. They remained “provisionally” in the 
pocket-book of A. H. 

As Barillot was marched off handcuffed, he 
said, with an insolent air, to the author of his 
arrest, — 


202 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL, 

‘‘Well, are you satisfied?” 

“Yes, by Jove! quite satisfied,” replied La 
Houssaye. 

He himself left the lodge, refusing the escort 
of the gamekeepers. He started in the direc- 
tion of the chateau, then suddenly wheeled 
around and, for the third time that day, took the 
road to Morniere. The church door stood open, 
and by the dim light of the lamp he could per- 
ceive the form of the abbe lying prostrate on 
the stones. On the altar the door of the taber- 
nacle was torn from its hinges. 

Adrien placed his hand on his friend’s shoul- 
der, who displayed a face bathed in tears. 

“Look!” said the priest, “the Holy of Holies 
has not terrified this miserable sinner. I have 
nearly fainted from grief, and had we arrived 
two minutes later, what profanation he would 
have committed! But you, my friend, I be- 
lieved that you were dead. Thank God! my 
anguish did not last long. I saw you disappear 
in pursuit of the man.” 

“ He is captured : I came to tell you. It was 
Barillot, the 'proteg^ of Mademoiselle de Louarn. 
Will she come to console him in prison ? But 
there is something else. Is there not missing from 
one of your chapels a medallion given by Made- 
moiselle Montgodfroy ?” 

The cure ran to his Madonna. 

“ It is stolen ” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 203 

“ Reassure yourself ; it is in a safe place, like the 
thief; and now I will leave you. I am sleepy. We 
will meet soon probably before the magistrate.” 

What Adrien desired was rather solitude than 
sleep after so many events. He was one of those 
natures who only recover their balance by com- 
muning with themselves. Astonishing thing! 
instead of fatigue, he felt a still indefinable satis- 
faction which rendered his body as well as his 
mind quite alert. Ho doubt the joy by which 
all beings are animated who have escaped a 
deadly danger played a great part in this enjoy- 
ment of life. He could still hear the ball whiz- 
zing by his ear. He thought what would have 
happened, had he not had such strength, such 
calmness, and, above all, such good luck. He 
felt a slight, cold shiver, not totally disagreeable, 
as he muttered to himself, “ I should have been 
nearly, if not quite, cold by this time.” 

Then another thought came to him, — 

“ Finally, I should have been wept for by this 
little Louise;” and probably this idea was the 
cause of the smile which played on his face. 
Some hours before, speaking of Mademoiselle 
Montgodfroy, he had said, “ She is but a child.” 
How could one be so mistaken, and help seeing 
that in her breast there beat a woman’s heart, 
with its hopes, its griefs, and its tenderness, all 
which she concealed from every eye! What 
courage! What purity! What naive faith! 


204 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Another would have resorted to coquetry, or 
would have betrayed her jealousy. Another 
would have sulked, wept, detested her rival ; but 
this angel of sweetness wore always the same 
smile, only a little sad. Oh ! how sad at certain 
moments. And in order to obtain the grace 
which she desired above all, (poor mistaken 
child,) she had recourse to celestial influence. 
She had made a vow ; this supreme means for 
souls who believe, in a desperate case. Yes, alas ! 
Louise’s case was desperate. 

“ And I,” said the young man, ‘‘ what will be 
my future ?” 

Then came to him, like a fresh puff of air, a 
sort of selfish consolation, — at least someone 
loved him. Alas, it was not at this door that 
his hungry heart humbly begged. And yet he 
experienced a strange sweetness in knowing that 
beyond a threshold, discreetly closed, a generous 
love awaited him, with extended hands longing 
for devotion. There he need fear no deception, 
no struggle, no revolt. He cut short his reflec- 
tions, and said to himself: ‘‘What difference 
does it make now ? Fate has decreed that what 
I suffer on account of another, this charming 
creature must suffer through me. How badly is 
life arranged.” 

It is curious to see how readily we leave to 
women the rUe of martyrs in the romances which 
our imagination sketches, or which exist in 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 205 

reality. This was just what Adrien was doing; 
“ hut,” he added, with the conviction of a pure 
conscience, ‘‘ it is by no fault of mine.” 

Men are seldom able to apply justly this re- 
mark to themselves. The cogitator had halted 
on a little bridge still far from Yillegarde. 
Leaning his elbows on the parapet, he watched 
the pale scintillations of the stars reflected in the 
pure crystal water, which reminded him of the 
eyes of this charming girl, whose love was his, 
even though “ it was no fault of his.” Suddenly 
one of those annoying voices which sometimes 
spoil the inward satisfaction of the Pharisee 
sounded in his ears, and the little ripples of the 
babbling brook seemed to repeat the words, — 

“ Let us suppose, oh, irreproachable man, that 
it is within your power to make Louise forget 
you, by giving to us the lines that you have in 
your pocket, and which do not belong to you, 
would you do it ?” 

Adrien did not possess one of those cunning 
minds which always have an argument at hand 
to get out of a difficulty. But he made to the 
ripples this subtle reply, — 

Since the lines of Louise do not belong to 
me, I have not the right to give them to you. 
Leave my conscience alone, then.” 

He even had the cynicism of confessing to 
himself that he was curious to see this young 
girl again. And smiling at the idea of this 
18 


206 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

meeting, which he promised himself should not 
he delayed, La Houssaye resumed his walk, with- 
out remarking that he had thought for several 
minutes of a woman who was not Antoinette. 

When he wished to turn his thoughts once 
more to ‘‘ his queen,’’ a strange alteration had 
taken place. Adrien loved still the same woman, 
but she no longer seemed to him the only woman 
in the universe. There stood beside her another 
equally difficult to forget. What man can for- 
get the first woman who has trusted him with 
the “ to be or not to be” of her happiness without 
a word or a sign ? And which memory is the 
surest of accompanying us to the tomb, — ^that 
of the cold statue, blindly worshipped, or that of 
the tender creature who loves in silence ? 

“ N’ayant rien demande, et n’ayant rien re9u.’* 

Adrien now understood that Louise was dis- 
paraging Antoinette in his eyes, and this revela- 
tion was rather a shock to him. The poor inno- 
cent girl only gained by it to be momentarily 
consigned to the pillory. One would have said 
she had just stolen some of the pearls from the 
coronet of “ Her Majesty.” But what could be 
done, for this crime was not amenable to the 
law ? To be quite just, moreover, the queen was 
careless in guarding her treasure. 

The nocturnal wanderer was at this point in 
his reflections, when the watchman who every 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 207 

night stood guard beneath the windows of the 
chateau cried out “ Qui vive Recognising the 
pedestrian, he informed him that Ferreol, after 
waiting a long while, had gone to his room, 
thinking that his friend had lingered to dream 
beneath the stars. 

The next day La Houssaye repaired to Fon- 
tainebleau for the cross-examination, where the 
sight of Barillot revived his resentment against 
Antoinette. From Fontainebleau he reached 
Paris, without returning to Villegarde. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

His first visit was to the Montgodfroys, which 
may make sceptics smile. Should some of these 
sceptics wonder why he was not going at once 
to the Louarns, his answer was at hand, or 
rather he had twenty good reasons, of which the 
following are some. In the first place, on their 
meeting, he was afraid of letting Antoinette 
see some things not quite agreeable and which 
weighed on his mind, In the second place, he 
disliked the idea of perhaps finding her with 
“ Renee.” Among the other reasons, the Lou- 
arns lived a long way ofiT, the Montgodfroys were 
close at hand. He wished to know the opinion 
of an unprejudiced man, such as the hanker, on 


208 IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

his adventure which the newspapers had men- 
tioned. The marquis had entrusted him to carry 
the news to his niece; finally, Abbe Esminjeaud 
had said that Mademoiselle Montgodfroy would 
he greatly interested in the tragic events of 
which her dear church at Morni^re had been the 
scene. 

Perhaps Adrien would have kept to himself 
his twenty-first reason, — his curiosity. He re- 
sembled a man who, having passed many times 
before a house completely shut up, learns one 
fine day that he has fallen heir to it. He does 
not count upon occupying it; he resides else- 
where, indeed; but he is curious to see what 
this dwelling is like which might be his, to 
know its luxury, and draws comparisons — who 
knows ? 

Such were Adrien’s feelings as he entered the 
Montgodfroys’ house at the close of an after- 
noon. The hour had not been selected at 
random. 

Honors was chatting with Louise, which he 
usually did before dinner. “La belle Martha” 
was out. 

“Ah!” exclaimed the banker. “When one 

speaks of the devil My daughter was just 

questioning me on your experiences, which are 
quite Gaborian-like. Is what all the papers 
report true ? You resemble the heroes of the 
Hiad who fought like lions and ran like deer. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 209 

I should have been killed, in all likelihood, hut 
I should never have caught the thief.” 

Louise was deeply affected, and, finding it dif- 
ficult to conceal her emotions, deemed an ex- 
planation necessary, — 

“ These stories of burglary always frighten 
me. It seems as though I were once more seated 
on my nurse’s lap.” 

“What a child!” sighed Honors, shrugging 
his shoulders. Adrien smiled. A child 1 Ah, 
these deep eyes, shining with a gentle light, were 
quite the eyes of a tender, good, devoted woman. 
It was amusing to see how little her father un- 
derstood Louise. 

“Mademoiselle,” said the hero, “forgive me 
for having indirectly alarmed you, but calm 
yourself ; the robber has killed no one, and has 
stolen nothing except a small gold medallion 
which I found in his pocket.” 

With evident anxiety, the young girl ex- 
claimed, — 

“ A votive offering which I have seen around 
the Virgin’s neck, and — Abbe Esminjeaud set 
store by it.” 

“Well, mademoiselle, our friend will find his 
votive offering when the judges are through 
with it.” 

“ Oh, how I hope they will send the man to 
prison.” 

“ You do not share the opinion of ‘ Een§e’ ?” 


210 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

asked La Houssaye, a little sadly. “ She believes 
that there are no criminals only sick people.’^ 
Montgodfroy burst out laughing, — 

“ Oh, my daughter is quite behind the times. 
She was just saying to me when you entered, 

‘ I do not understand how Mademoiselle de 
Louarn 

‘‘Papa!” exclaimed Louise, and she sprang 
up as though to close her father’s mouth. 

“Why, papa! Monsieur La Houssaye sees 
things in the same light as we do. Your friend 
is a crank, who is too much neglected by her 
father ; and, by the way, I wish you to go there 
as little as possible.” 

Adrien looked at his watch, meditating his 
escape. He had the courage necessary to defend 
his heart’s choice before all the world, hut in the 
presence of Louise he felt himself a coward. He 
left rather brusquely, under the pretext that 
someone was waiting for him. 

This disloyal knight was not aware that he 
was telling the truth; for, in fact, he found 
Pierre de Louarn awaiting his return. His face 
evidently betrayed annoyance, for Antoinette’s 
father, on seeing him, exclaimed, — 

“ Don’t be afraid ; I have not come to inter- 
view you. I suppose you are surfeited with it. 
But someone urges me to say something about 
this stone-cutters’ strike. You have been able 
to form some opinion because you saw it.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 211 

“ I did not see the strike,” answered Adrien, 
coldly. “ I saw a striker or would-be striker 
who robbed a church ; so you guess my opinion, 
since I had him put in jail.” 

Without noticing the irritable tone, the direc- 
tor of the “ Amendment ” continued, — 

“ Thanks to you, the rascal will be punished. 
But this strike is none the less interesting be- 
cause it is quite local and confined to one branch 
of trade. 'No politician has thus far perverted it. 
These stone-workers nearly all have a wife and 
children, and demand the living wage, which is 
one of the claims that I acknowledge. We could 
speak together better if you will accede to my 
and my daughter’s wish to come and dine with 
us. Antoinette is dying to learn some of the 
circumstantial details. Your place is always 
reserved for you.” 

Adrien could not refuse. Antoinette de- 
manded his presence! The two men left to- 
gether, one speaking of his next day’s article, 
the other saying to himself, — 

“What matters it to me, all the thieves and 
strikers in the world ? When her beauty shall 
belong to me, I will shut her up in my heart 
as behind a wall, or rather I will carry her 
far away from these people who are leading 
her astray, far from ‘ Eenee,’ Thomassin, Martha 
Montgodfroy, far from her own father, and 
then ” 


212 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

What this ‘‘ then ” meant may be guessed by 
every young and passionate being. 

While Adrien was entering the parlour, Pierre 
de Louarn disappeared for a few moments. His 
daughter was reading near a lamp, which set off 
to advantage her beautiful features and the lines 
of her bust. La Houssaye seemed to drink in 
the chief charm which emanated from her entire 
presence, as if seeking a sort of intoxication. 
While she was looking at him, astonished to see 
him no longer timid, discerning some change in 
him, the young man said in a smothered 
voice, — 

“ My heavens ! how beautiful you are !” 

She was silent for a moment; then she an- 
swered, — 

“You know my opinion of compliments; let 
us speak of more serious subjects. You have 
been near dying ; what does one feel in face of 
death?’’ 

“ Hot much, when one is not loved.” 

“You see, then, that it is better not to be 
loved.” 

“ Yes, in the same sense that it is better not to 
live, according to some people. But I love life.” 

“Happy man; could you tell me why you 
love it ?” 

“ Because — ^well, I should like to die only after 
having lived for one hour; lived ^ — ^you under- 
stand me ?” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


213 


Antoinette understood his meaning so well 
that her lips began to tremble. This burning 
wind of desire and passion agitated her in spite 
of herself. 

With clenched teeth, Adrien murmured, — 

“ Oh that mouth !” 

She had closed her eyes ; feeling that he was 
about to spring towards her and clasp her in his 
arms. The door opened : Pierre de Louarn en- 
tered. It is not always the months and years of 
struggle which change our lives. Sometimes it 
is the advance or delay of a second by the pendu- 
lum of destiny. 

They sat down at table immediately and the 
conversation was changed. La Houssaye told 
his story, even as he had told it to the Montgod- 
froys, but not with the same result. Perhaps 
Antoinette was more intrepid than Louise, or 
maybe she hid her impressions better, for the 
recital of the short encounter seemed in nowise 
to terrify her. She only said, by way of con- 
clusion, — 

‘‘ Any creature, man or beast, at bay has but 
one object, — to kill.” 

Adrien, who considered it less dangerous to 
speak of stags than of men with this kind of an 
interlocutrice, answered with a smile, — 

“ And, nevertheless, you are a fearless hun- 
tress.” 

“I was,” said Mademoiselle de Louarn, her 


214 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

eyes growing suddenly hard; she still remem- 
bered a certain hallali of Ferreohs. 

“ What do you mean ? — that you no longer care 
for hunting 

‘‘iN'o; I am through with it. IN’o one will 
ever see me again follow the hounds or assist at 
a quarry.’^ 

Certain words produce an effect beyond their 
importance. Whether Mademoiselle de Louarn 
was fond or was not fond of hunting was a mat- 
ter of secondary importance to her husband, 
whoever he might be. 

But Adrien, an enthusiastic sportsman, saw 
another difference between his and Antoinette’s 
tastes. He remembered how happy he had been 
to lend her his horse. How much trouble lost ! 
His brow reddened with anger, but he contented 
himself by replying, — 

“As you please, mademoiselle. After these 
words, I will put Elphin up for sale to-mor- 
row.” 

Louarn, generally very distrait, no doubt had 
understood a part of the thoughts of his guest, 
for he said to his daughter with unusual se- 
verity, — 

“ I never knew that you were an ingrate.” 

She replied, — 

“ I am not an ingrate, but I assure you that 
hunting does not agree with me.” 

“ Heither do politics. You will give me the 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 215 

pleasure of allowing ‘ Renee’ to attend the strikes 
by herself another time.” 

‘‘ What, father ! is it you who speak so ?” 

A discussion began between the father and 
daughter. Adrien carefully avoided any interfer- 
ence ; but his bad humour was soon changed into 
consternation. It was evident that the young girl 
surpassed the doctrines of the Social Amend- 
ment.” And, above all, it was quite evident that 
Pierre de Louarn had lost his authority over his 
daughter. Thomassin and “Renee'’ had been 
there. 

In spite of his silence, the physiognomy of the 
young man was eloquent; it was more than 
Antoinette could support. She was one of those 
numerous women whom contradiction, even 
silent, exasperates. Moreover, she had another 
reason to be exasperated ; that unknown emotion 
that agitated her in the presence of Adrien. 

As if in defiance, she suddenly turned towards 
him with this unexpected outburst, — 

“ You are trembling with indignation, are you 
not ? What do you want ? I am a woman, and 
I only see the suffering. You are a man, and 
only see the fault. Some day, perhaps, we shall 
be admitted to fill State appointments ; but we 
will never do to serve as judges, and still less as 
torturers.” 

“ I believe,” added Adrien, “ indeed, the first 
of these functions would not suit you. As for 


216 IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

the second, that is another thing. Many women 
do not scruple to torture. Suffering no longer 
affects them when it is they who cause it.” 

“Because for the most part of the time it is 
your pride that we cause to suffer.” 

“ If you loved some one, would his possessing 
no pride be a charm for you ?” 

“Perhaps. In order to know, it would he 
necessary for me to love some one.” 

When a woman cries out from the house-tops 
that she loves no one, one would have the right 
to ask the cause of her crying so loudly. But 
Adrien understood better leading the dogs back 
to the right scent than reading a feminine heart, 
which, by the way, is an easier task. Pushed to 
the utmost extremity, which spared neither his 
heart nor his pride, he answered, — 

“We know, mademoiselle, that you reserve 
your compassion for Barillot. It is a pleasure 
to see how well placed it is, when one has the 
honour of being one of your friends.” 

“Your friendship is somewhat satirical. Yo 
matter, I would not exchange my role of volun- 
tary nurse for that of a detective, which is yours.” 

“ Come, come, be silent,” interrupted de 
Louarn, throwing down his napkin and rising 
from the table; as he passed into his study to 
take a cigar, his daughter said to La Houssaye 
with a menacing gesture, — 

“You forget our compact. I have warned 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 217 

you ; if you incite my father against me, expect 
nothing more/’ 

“ Great heavens, what can I expect ?” sighed 
the young man. 

Antoinette scarcely opened her mouth the rest 
of the evening, the commencement of which pre- 
saged something else rather than discord. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The marquis only remained a few days at 
Villegarde. The strikes had now subsided, the 
men having no longer the money with which to 
drink ; alas ! they had often none wherewith to 
eat. Furthermore, they began to see that their 
only pay consisted in fine promises. The sub- 
scriptions remained open, but produced nothing ; 
the Municipal Council of Paris had voted nothing. 
The question had not yet been brought before the 
Chamber of Deputies. For, to tell the truth, the 
last exploit of Barillot rather threw a damper on 
everybody. 

Having returned to his bachelor quarters in 
the Avenue Hoche, Ferreol kept noticeably apart, 
even though the season was at its height. On 
the contrary, “ la belle Martha ” plunged deeper 
than ever into the whirlpool of high life. Did 


218 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

anybody express astonishment at seeing her with- 
out her daughter, she would say, — 

I am gaining a year. The marriage propo- 
sals will come in soon enough. Besides, Louise 
does not like society.’’ 

This was not one of those falsehoods which 
mothers holding to their youth sometimes allow 
themselves. Instead of growing worldly with 
age, Mademoiselle Montgodfroy showed a taste 
more and more marked for solitude ; but since 
her uncle’s return she had been much less alone. 
Villegarde had taken pity on the gentle creature, 
so sadly isolated between a father deep in busi- 
ness and a mother so little fitted for maternity. 
Every day he had some tete-a-tUes with his grand- 
niece, cruel and delicious moments for the young 
girl, who could then throw ofi* her mask of 
childhood. 

Sometimes she said to her uncle, with a 
broken-hearted smile in which there was so 
little youth, — 

“ You are my father, my mother, my all.” 

Alas ! Villegarde well knew that he was not 
all. But for this little widow of eighteen, as she 
called herself, he had some consolation which 
might have been inspired by a feminine tender- 
ness. Besides, Louise did not wish to despair yet 
for certain reasons. 

“ I love him so much, the other loves him so 
little,” she said to her uncle. “ Then, if a miracle 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


219 


is needed, why should I not obtain it ? Many 
greater ones have been worked.” 

One morning, coming to breakfast with the 
marquis, she arrived first. Yillegarde was be- 
lated in the Bois. While waiting for him, she 
glanced over a sporting journal, one of the few 
that she was permitted to read. One line 
caught her eye, as if the whole page only com- 
prised these few words, — 

Elphin, owned by Monsieur La Houssaye, is 
put up for sale at .” 

Yillegarde entering at this moment, his grand- 
niece threw her arms around his neck. 

“ Well, what is the matter ? Your cheeks are 
burning; you, who ordinarily are like tepid 
water, are at the boiling point. Where is the 
fire ?” 

Without a word, she pointed to the announce- 
ment. 

“ Strange !” said Ferreol. But what does that 
prove ? I repeat to you my refrain, little one, — 
no illusions.” 

‘‘ I have no illusions, I assure you. But Elphin 
suppressed, it seems to me there is one enemy 
the less. Oh, I hated that one. There are so 
many others I am obliged to love like myself 
out of love of God.” 

‘‘ And you succeed ?” 

“ Sometimes, after I have prayed a good deal 
or have talked with Abbe Esminjeaud. But 


220 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

now I have only one idea, why did he not wish 
to keep ’’ 

She stopped herself just in time, the door 
opened admitting the owner of Elphin. After 
greeting Mademoiselle Montgodfroy, Adrien said 
to the marquis, — 

“I missed you at ‘Poteaux.’* I wished to 
speak to you on a little business matter ; I will 
come back, as you are not alone.” 

Louise had picked up the journal with a 
trembling hand, which was increased as she felt 
she was watched by La Houssaye. Why this 
embarrassing attention? Heretofore she had 
never counted for anything in the eyes of this 
indifferent man, and Grod knows how much this 
knowledge had made her suffer. But now it 
seemed as if he was watching her too much. 

One will say that it would have been more 
generous in Adrien to ignore Louise’s presence 
as he had previously done, but to do this he 
would need to be constituted differently from 
other men, and no one pretends that he was. 

Who will deprive himself of inhaling the 
delicious odour of a flower, for the reason that 
he has no intention of culling it? Alas! the 
haughty flower selected by this unhappy man, 
the invincible Antoinette, thus far had refused 
him the divine perfume. He made the com- 


* The Kotten How of the Bois de Boulogne. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


221 


parison a little bitterly, and resolved at least not to 
trample upon the tender violet so long unnoticed. 

ISTothing, moreover, could be more delicious 
than Louise’s shyness. Was he not beginning 
to ask her questions, to enquire into her tastes 
and ideas ? She replied in the best way, greatly 
surprised that anyone, he, above all, should be 
interested in her ; happy when she saw that he 
approved. But Adrien frowned occasionally in 
a peculiar way, and poor Louise feared that she 
had answered indiscreetly, little suspecting that, 
on the contrary, she had answered only too well. 
Reason, wisdom, and love dictated every word 
which she spoke. One would have said that she 
had worked cunningly to show herself off, at the 
expense of the other, and heaven knows that no 
creature was less cunning. Adrien reflected, — 

“We think the same way on everything. 
Life with this child would pass like a dream 
of sweetness, without discussion or struggle.” 

He resented the mere idea of a comparison, 
even in his heart of hearts, as a disloyalty to his 
beloved. At least, no one could blame him for 
drifting into a current of friendship for Louise. 
With a sort of compassion for himself, the cruelty 
of which he did not see, he said to the young 
girl,— 

“What a pity that we are not thirty years 
older, we should be such good friends. Your 
judgment is so good.” 


19 * 


222 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


This compliment, which rent her soul, she ac- 
cepted bravely, but replied, — 

‘‘ That need not be an objection. I assure you 
that in certain respects I am quite an old woman.’’ 

“ The idea !” said Adrien. “ After two or 
three years you will no more think of me than 
you do of your first doll. Everything changes 
in this world ; it is the supreme law. Everyone 
makes his own life and lives for himself.” 

He already experienced a strange bitterness 
at the thought that he would be forgotten by 
Louise. She would marry another man; per- 
haps some day she would laugh with her hus- 
band, between caresses, at her first passion. She 
would be the one to forget, he the forgotten. 
In advance, he experienced a vague displeasure 
mingled with an unconscious jealousy against 
the consoler who was sooner or later to come. 
Ferreol watched him closely, and said in a serious 
tone, — 

“My dear Adrien, Barillot’s pistol-shot has 
transformed you. You have become as pessi- 
mistic as though you were twenty.” 

Louise protested. 

“ Why always abuse the young ? Am I pessi- 
mistic, then ?” 

“ Oh, mademoiselle, you do not count. You 
are one of those believers to whom conviction 
gives hope, which they complete, if necessary, by 
resignation. Such are our people of Brittany 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


223 


who start on a pilgrimage to pray for fine weather 
carrying an umbrella. These in any case do not 
run the risk of getting wet.” 

Mademoiselle Montgodfroy, astonished at this 
rather discourteous reply, said nothing ; hut the 
marquis came to her rescue, — 

“ And you, my friend, do you know what you 
resemble ? Those spoilt children who cry with- 
out knowing what they want. What do you 
require to please you ? To throw oneself into the 
arms of Schopenhauer or in those of religion ? 
There scarcely seems to be a middle course. 
Heed well, however, that it is not Schopenhauer 
who has said that ‘ love is stronger than death,’ 
and neither is it he who has proclaimed the 
dogma of hope and remembrance beyond the 
tomb.” 

La Houssaye was silent ; then he got up, for- 
getting the object of his visit, which was to an- 
nounce Elphin’s disgrace. In vain, Ferreol en- 
treated him to stay to breakfast, in vain did the 
blue eyes of his niece second the invitation, 
little suspecting that they were so eloquent. 
La Houssaye was not to be moved, but on taking 
leave of Mademoiselle Montgodfroy he kissed 
her hand for the first time in his life. And 
while he was thus treating her as a grown-up 
young lady, he murmured these words, which 
on this occasion might have more than one 
meaning, “ Pardon !” 


224 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


When he was in the street, he thought, — 

“ As things are, the conversation of this young 
girl is of no service to me. Poor little thing, it 
is distressing to see her suffer. Alas ! does not 
one always suffer? With Antoinette I might 
have some cruel hours, — hut no matter, provided 
one day the heavens open.’’ 

Thus faithfully obstinate in his passion, he 
forced back his thoughts to his heart’s chosen 
one, or, to speak more correctly, to her who had 
vanquished him. But since he had found a 
certain prize in a thief s pocket, these mysterious 
tete-d-tetes with his imagination had been dis- 
turbed. 

Between himself and Mademoiselle de Louarn 
a third person had just come on the scene, a dis- 
creet, silent witness, who caused him a strange 
uneasiness. He always believed that he felt the 
deep and pure look of Louise fixed on him, on 
them both, and, in spite of himself, he drew 
comparisons in his mind, a dreaded process of 
analysis. How, can it not be said that analysis 
is the exterminating angel to love when it is 
weak, and often when it is strong? 

In nations badly governed one is sure to see 
spring up at the side of the throne a prince of 
royal blood whom the malcontents choose as 
their leader. In the same way all that was 
sufiering in Adrien — his reason, his manly dig- 
nity, his tastes and ideas — turned to Louise as 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 225 

the possible queen in whom opposition was im- 
personated. 

This did not prevent him from returning to 
see Antoinette, who was with “ Eenee so he did 
not enter, hut left his card with these reproachful 
words : “ I do not wish to spoil a 

In order to console or avenge himself, he took 
his waj to the Montgodfrojs’ house at the hour 
when he knew that he should find the father and 
daughter alone. Once again he came away- 
calmed, carrying with him the remembrance of 
Louise’s smile. The other never smiled ! 

When he next saw Antoinette it was with a 
regret, for this interview was stormy. It was he 
who raised the storm, ajprojpos of ‘‘Renee.” 
With all her Breton obstinacy. Mademoiselle 
de Louarn defended her friend. 

“ She is a good woman, whose conduct is irre- 
proachable, and she is clever. My father opens 
his doors and the columns of his newspaper to 
her. Those who object to meeting her in our 
home need not come here.” 

“ But still she does not believe in God.” 

“Does she hinder you from believing in 
Him ? Have you now become such a religious 
man ?” 

“Certain manias are contagious. She is a 
crank, who loves to see her name in print. 
Sooner or later there will be some scandal about 
her and you.” 


226 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

“You will not rescue me from it. Why do 
you insist on coming here? Look for a wife 
worthier of you and who ” 

She stopped, as though seized by timidity. 
Adrien, without noticing the hesitation, com- 
pleted the phrase, — 

“ And who loves me. It seems impossible to 
you that one could love me. And should you 
he told that this incredible thing has happened, 
how you would shrug your shoulders.” 

There was a gleam in Antoinette’s eyes that 
looked very much like j ealousy. She answered, — 

“You ought not to believe too easily in love ; 
you are too rich.” 

Adrien continued, almost smiling. He knew 
perfectly well that Montgodfroy’s only daughter, 
the heiress of Yillegarde, did not love him be- 
cause of his fortune. 

“ That is to punish me for having spoken like 
a coxcomb. It serves me right.” 

He changed the subject, making some com- 
monplace remarks and took leave, ashamed for 
half betraying the secret of another. Strange 
to say, he did not suffer now as he had done in 
seeing his love scorned by Antoinette. He 
knew where to find, if he wished, a greeting 
less disdainful; and, certain that a pure spring 
of tenderness was flowing near him, he better 
supported the thirst which cruelly exasperated 
his heart. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


227 


When he returned home, he found a stamped 
document which called him as a witness to the 
criminal court of Melun for the case of Barillot. 
The morning papers had announced the trial for 
the succeeding week. Adrien did not suspect 
that he was going to be tried even before the 
prisoner was. 

The scene took place on the morrow when he 
paid a visit to Antoinette. As he was railing 
against this duty to which he was obliged to 
submit, Mademoiselle de Louarn said, — 

“I understand your repugnance: you will 
hold in your hands the fate of a poor devil, for, 
in fact, you are the only witness. It is a fright- 
ful responsibility.” 

“ But, no,” answered La Houssaye ; “ nothing 
frightens me less than to have this blackguard 
condemned who wished to kill me. My greatest 
objection in the matter is to be disturbed; to go 
through the tedious length of the sitting, to en- 
dure the stuffy atmosphere, the contact — in one 
word — ^the criminal formalities.” 

“For you all this will be finished in a few 
hours, but this unfortunate man, how many 
years will he have to suffer the hardest punish- 
ment? Think of this fragment of existence — 
the best — ^that will be sliced from his life. Per- 
haps he will be an old man when he is allowed 
to commence life anew.” 

“ If you would like my opinion,” said Adrien, 


228 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

‘ ' this permission will come only too soon. Crimes 
are punished too leniently.” 

“ You speak in this way because you are among 
the impeccahles, in other words, among the lucky 
ones. Hunger deprives a man of free arbitration.” 

“ I imagine that I am listening to your mas- 
ters !” exclaimed La Houssaye, carried away by 
indignation. “ You are evidently convinced that 
one is always happy when one is rich. Must I 
repeat to you that I envy Barillot ? He does not 
love you, but, more favoured than I, he has your 
compassion.” 

‘‘ What has the fellow gained by it except your 
hatred ? I can read in your eyes what your testi- 
mony will be. You will use all your arguments 
in the accusation.” 

“ What would you like ? In order to please 
you, must I declare that Barillot shot at a 
target?” 

For one instant La Houssaye remained silent. 
In his mind once more he saw the scene which 
had betrayed Louise’s secret to him. The flame 
of anger in his eyes was extinguished at the 
memory of this sweet creature, and, in a softened 
voice, he said, — 

“You are wrong to believe that I hate this 
wretched fellow. But I cannot change our fate, 
— neither his nor mine.” 

“ I give up all hope of touching you,” Antoi- 
nette replied ; “ you are indomitable.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


229 


‘‘How do you know? What tames men is 
tenderness. Have I ever heard from your lips 
one single word for which my heart thirsted ?” 

So saying, he parted from Antoinette. Had 
he retraced his steps, he would have found this 
being whom he had accused of heartlessness 
bathed in tears. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Two days before his trip to Melun, Adrien 
joined Ferreol and his grandniece, who were 
cantering in the Allies des Foteaux, Their con- 
versation at once turned on Barillot’s case. 

“ I am sorry to see you mixed up in this trial,’’ 
said Louise. “ Should the man be condemned, 
it will be because of your testimony. Certainly, 
one must tell the things as they happened ; but, 
but ” 

The poor girl did not know how to get out 
of it, especially as she saw Adrien frown. He 
thought to himself — 

“Is she also going to ask me to spare this 
dog ?” He exclaimed abruptly, — 

“ Does Barillot interest you ?” 

“ Oh, no,” she said, indignantly. “ Only I 
hear of bombs being thrown in retaliation. 

20 


230 QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Should this thief have any friends who wish to 
avenge him, in your place I should take some 
precautions.” 

She had blushed brightly on first perceiving 
Adrien, but had now become quite pale. The 
young man had lost nothing of this change, and 
this gentle anxiety for his safety caused him true 
emotion. For the first time he felt the soothing 
joy, surpassed perhaps by no other, that of being 
loved; the invisible caress of tender solicitude. 
He replied by one single word, looking at Louise 
as he had never done before, — 

“ Merci^ mademoiselle.” 

It may be noticed that he kept long phrases 
for the other ; the last time he parted from Louise 
it was with a simple “pardon.” Yet he ad- 
mitted to himself that Antoinette’s philanthropy 
was not worth much compared to the words he 
had just heard stammered. 

Barillot was quickly sentenced, and at one sit- 
ting ; his lawyer deemed it necessary to advertise 
his client as a political hero. The principal wit- 
ness so little spared the accused that the sen- 
tence an maximum was pronounced. The same 
evening Adrien slept in Paris. 

As the season was drawing to a close, every 
one was about leaving the city. The Montgod- 
froys were returning to Saint IJrbain; Ville- 
garde to his woods. As to Pierre de Louarn, he 
was detained by his occupations, or rather his 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 231 

preoccupations; the ^‘Social Amendment’’ was 
on its last legs. 

To tell the truth, his management had killed 
it. This dreamer, whose judgment was ques- 
tionable, was incapable of drawing a line in his 
ideas or in men. He could draw a crowd for an 
hour, but he could not hold it. Whereas, for a 
journalist to succeed in France, it is necessary to 
dissimulate a lack of principle beneath the false 
appearance of conviction. Pierre de Louarn was 
a soul of bronze mounted on a pivot. More- 
over, Christian Socialism was going out of 
fashion, precisely because its most powerful pa- 
tron, the Pope, was making a kind of religious 
dogma of it. For a time the edulcorated juice of 
its doctrines had allured the drones in a common 
buzz with the bees ; but the two swarms, each 
discontented with what could satisfy the other, 
had retreated, one to the hive of faith, the other 
to the rotten trunk of the tree of Atheism. The 
very voice of the chief who was recommending 
the union of Catholic Conservatives and the 
Catholic Socialists suggested battles too formida- 
ble for our indifference of to-day ; instinctively, 
each party fell back to its respective rank in the 
light skirmish of every-day discussion. 

The dispersion of the individual characters 
already known to the reader had taken place. 
Montgodfroy was gently cutting off his daughter’s 
intimacy with Antoinette. The marquis had no 


232 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

occasion to see the Louarns again, and did not 
seek to make one. Fernand’s manoeuvres were 
being performed elsewhere, and each day he 
awaited the capitulation of the enemy, in other 
words, that of a very rich notary adorned with a 
daughter. As for the brilliant Thomassin, the 
“ feminist apostle,” he had left the parterre of 
roses for furrows less flowery, hut more serious. 
He was preparing to present himself for a Social 
candidateship in the House of Deputies. 

He broke off relations with the “Amend- 
ment,” where it was said one was liable to take 
cold in the compassionate tears of “ Renee.” As 
for “ la belle Martha,” she had had quite enough 
of ill-dressed apostles, who, moreover, were too 
careless of their persons. At this moment she 
was studying Buddhism under the guidance of 
an elegant and perfumed amateur Bonze, who in- 
structed the Parisians in his bachelor apartment, 
delightfully furnished and decorated in the style 
of a Hindoo temple, on the left hank of the 
Seine. His turban, his long red silk gown, and 
his yellow sash, which he wore in intimity, gave 
an extra charm to his theories on the Transmigra- 
tion of Souls. 

Of all these persons, Antoinette was the un- 
happiest. She had abandoned the snowy heights 
of indifference and had not been able to attain 
the sun-warmed valleys of love. She had lost 
the bright light of Faith without falling into the 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


233 


dark abyss of Atheism, where her soul could 
conveniently slumber. While she was seeking 
to love men for themselves at “ Renee's school, 
she experienced a heart-sickening disgust caused 
by a food in which the divine salt was wanting. 

La Houssaye, in the meanwhile, was revolving 
slowly around the spot, like a fatigued oarsman 
whose boat is surprised between two currents. 
There were but a few months to elapse before he 
could claim from Antoinette the fulfillment of 
her promise. Until then he would not think, 
struggle, or anticipate. He had become a fatalist, 
— that which must be will be. Does not time 
pass avray without being hastened by our de- 
sires ? Sometimes, in spite of everything, the 
future appeared to him hazardous, but then he 
thought, — 

Well, I shall not be the only one to sufiTer. 
Another will be unhappy, — the pretty believer 
who will not make a wedding trip to Lourdes 
with the husband she has asked for in her 
prayers.” 

Since the trial at Melun there was a sort of 
truce existing between Antoinette and himself. 
JSTo allusion had been made to irritating sub- 
jects, — “ Renee,” Barillot’s sentence, the execu- 
tion of the bomb thrower, which was daily ex- 
pected. Moreover, Pierre de Louarn was much 
occupied with a project in view, a religious re- 
treat for labourers presided over by Abbe Esmin- 
20 * 


234 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


jeaud, whicli was to be held in a working- 
man’s hall. It commenced the afternoon before 
Adrien’s return to Murier. While it was open- 
ing, the young man called to take leave of the 
Montgodfroys, themselves also on the point of 
departing. Louise was not in the salon, but he 
met her in the hall as he was going. 

“ You have come to bid us adieu ?” she asked. 

“Adieu! Oh, no; only aw revoir. We shall 
see each other in a few days at Brie. I shall 
return to Murier to-morrow.” 

She restrained with difficulty an exclamation 
of joy. 

“ What I you are leaving Paris ?” 

As she remarked the same scrutinising look 
in Adrien’s eyes she had noticed before, she 
added, quickly, — 

“ I meant — I mean to say that I thought that 
Abbe Esminjeaud’s sermons would attract you 
here ; you admire his eloquence so much.” 

“ In his village church, yes. But this meet- 
ing, no matter how religious it may be, causes 
me to fear a little for him. I have just seen him, 
and made my apologies for not being one of his 
auditors.” 

“Still, do you not stand in need of a little 
conversion ?” asked Louise, with a smile which 
seemed like a rose in the mist. 

So long as the smile lasted, Adrien looked at 
her ; then he said, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 235 

“Mademoiselle, for certain people who have 
taken the wrong way, it is better not to realise 
that they have been mistaken; but you could 
not understand me.” 

A quarter of an hour later he rang at the 
Louarns’ door. 

The day was waning. Antoinette was writing 
and alone, except for a little child dressed in 
black, whose common features bespoke the pre- 
cociousness of the lower class children of 
Paris. 

When she saw Adrien, Mademoiselle de Lou- 
arn quitted her desk, and stood behind a large 
arm-chair, resting her beautiful arms, bare to 
the elbow, on the carved back of the chair. 
One would have said that she was intrenching 
herself, preparatory to doing battle, and in truth 
it was a battle which was about to take place ; 
she knew ‘it. Adrien, however, had come more 
decided than ever to keep the truce. A short 
interview with Louise had sufficed to calm and 
soothe his nerves. He pressed Antoinette’s 
hand, without noticing that this hand was slow 
in being offered. On the milky whiteness of 
her arm, he saw the marks made by the oak 
carving, and he thought in his ardour, quick to 
be kindled in a young and passionate man, that 
his lips some day would leave similar marks on 
these charming arms. Indeed, this beautiful 
woman could count upon some fervent hours of 


236 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

adoration in the future ; but she was no longer 
adored in the fashion of a queen. 

She had recently become too much of a woman 
not to understand this new state of Adrien’s 
mind, and not to feel it at this moment, and, to 
do her justice, she regretted this aureole changed 
into an earthly radiation. From a pride quite to 
her credit, or perhaps from the love of contra- 
diction inborn in the feminine breast, she longed 
to recover her crown. Yet, in declaring war on 
this rebellious subject, she was ignorant of the 
fact that he had a secret ally. 

While both were silent, not wishing to com- 
municate their impressions to each other, the 
little girl, intimidated by the visitor, came up 
close to Antoinette and clutched her dress in 
both hands. In addition to the terrible disgrace 
of her destiny, the child had the misfortune to 
be ugly, and this ugliness, in juxtaposition with 
the beauty of Antoinette, produced upon Adrien 
the eftect of a false note. He asked, — 

“ For heaven’s sake, what are you going to do 
with this little monster ?” 

“I would like to make a good and honest 
woman of her, which she cannot hope to be 
unless someone gives her a helping hand.” 

“ Is she an orphan ?” 

“ Hot yet; but according to all probability by 
sunrise to-morrow she will no longer have a 
father.” 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


237 


Too young to understand, the child looked at 
Mademoiselle de Louarn with the bright eyes of 
a half-tamed animal. Adrien understood, and 
instinctively stepped back, trembling. 

My God !” he cried, “ is it possible that this is 
the child of — of the man who will he executed 
to-morrow 

‘‘Be merciful,’’ said Antoinette, in whom pity, 
fear, and yet another emotion gave a perfection 
to her beauty such as Adrien had never hitherto 
witnessed. 

But he did not see it; he was above all re- 
volted in his masculine justice. 

He looked with a sort of terror at this unfortu- 
nate being, the offspring of the ferocious beast 
who would be suppressed in a few hours. He 
fell into an arm-chair and, with his head buried 
in his hands, muttered, “ It is madness.” 

“Well,” said Mademoiselle de Louarn, in- 
different to the exclamation, “believe that I 
am mad. It is not the first time that I have 
been told so. But at least I have a humane 
heart. What would you wish, then ? That this 
innocent child, who has been deserted by her 
mother, should follow her father, you know 
where ?” 

“For gracious’ sake,” interrupted Adrien, 
“answer me without circumlocution; we are 
not writing for a newspaper article. What are you 
going to do with this girl ? Adopt her, perhaps.” 


238 QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

“ You forget that I am only twenty-four years 
old. It is ‘ Eenee’ who has taken charge of her ; 
hut every day the little girl will come to me for 
several hours. I shall teach her as much as pos- 
sible.” 

‘‘Your father consents to this?” 

“ He will consent to it. I have only learned 
this morning of ‘Renee’s’ sublime act, which 
will be kept secret.” 

Adrien could not prevent a shrug of the shoul- 
ders, forgetting at this moment the deference due 
to the poor “ Majesty.” 

“You count upon secrecy? So, I must un- 
derstand that the grey hairs of this crank and 
your brown ones hide the same inexperience,” 
he said. “ I tell you now that the reporters will 
be here before sunset.” 

“ Ah, it is they whom you fear ?” 

“I fear them for your sake in the same way 
that Abbe Esminjeaud feared the fingers of your 
friend Barillot for his Host. I will not have you 
profaned, — even touched by ridicule.” 

The beginning of the phrase had only moved 
Antoinette gently, but this word ridicule made 
her bound. Women tolerate with a strange 
facility the thought of being capable of every 
crime, but let it be insinuated that ridicule 
awaits them, and they look upon it as an unpar- 
donable offence. 

“ Sublime or ridiculous, what does it matter to 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 239 

you?’’ she said, in defiance of the looks of 
Adrien. “ It is too soon to speak as a master !” 

“ Alas ! later, it will be too late. Listen to 
me : I am neither a master nor a man without 
heart. I have as much compassion as you for 
the unfortunate, hut more experience of life. 
Give this miserable child to me ; I will put her in 
a safe place. She shall lack nothing ; I promise 
it on my honour as surely as I am yours.” 

‘‘ !N’o,” said Antoinette ; “ she is not for sale. 
She has been confided to me; I shall keep 
her.” 

And taking the little one in her arms, she 
covered her with kisses. 

These caresses irritated La Houssaye as an 
odious and supreme challenge which revolted 
him. Trembling with a singular emotion, he 
said, — 

“ What could you give more some day to your 
own children, who will not bear on their brows 
the stigma of crime ?” 

“Mignonne, little angel fallen from heaven 
in the mire, do not fear that I will forsake 
you,” continued Antoinette, without replying to 
Adrien. ‘‘ If the world censures me, if no one 
loves me enough to sustain me, you will at least 
love me, perhaps, dear innocent one.” 

La Houssaye rose, surprised to find an un- 
wonted resolution in his will. Slowly he uttered 
these words, — 


240 


IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


“Exaltation is a bad counsellor. I implore 
you to listen to me with your reason. Do you 
say that I speak like a master ? Alas ! how 
many times have I reproached myself for my 
weakness after I have left you. But the world 
must not pity me, instead of envying me, the 
day when you will take my name. Listen. 
Promise me that this child shall go to her 
adopted mother’s house, and that she shall never 
again cross your threshold. On my faith as an 
honest man, I will provide for her future.” 

“ I will pledge myself to nothing,” said An- 
toinette, looking in space as though she foresaw 
the approaching catastrophe. 

All exaltation had left her; she had become 
singularly calm. Beneath this beauty, this 
youth, even beneath these errors of a tortured 
mind, one felt the Celtic rock, the basis of this 
nature. 

On the contrary, La Houssaye was greatly 
moved, and trembled from head to foot ; but at 
this moment his will clouded his passion, as in 
some moments his passion had clouded his judg- 
ment. It was no longer the question of the 
lover, but of a cautious man held in check by 
his conscience, to avoid the common misery for 
himself and for another. He was sufficiently 
courageous not to look at Antoinette. In his 
thoughts he saw Louise, she who would sacrifice 
for him everything in the world but honour and 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 241 

duty. In this supreme struggle he was encour- 
aged as though by the presence of a friend. 

“Do you understand,” he asked, “that this 
moment can change your life and mine ? for, if 
you are determined never to yield a point, misery 
awaits us. How, I do not wish to see my wife 
suffer, and, still less, to make her suffer.” 

“ Ah ! so it is all over, then, this great love ?” 
said Antoinette. 

“ One might believe that you desired it. 
Who knows but that you are right ? For in the 
place of one unhappy being I now see two. I 
had thought that you, at least, might live hap- 
pily, with the happiness of a statue, adored, 
honoured, and adorned. But to-day I fear that 
the temple will become a simple house, like 
others, for commonplace disputes ; the idol, an 
ordinary being who will know the bitterness of 
hating her own husband, without ever having 
known the happiness of loving him. In a word, 
then, I am stupefied by fear.” 

“ And so ?” 

“ So I beg you, I beseech you to reassure me 
by giving up a generous caprice. Allow me just 
now to protect you against yourself. Give me 
this little girl. It will be for her good, I assure 
you.” 

“Ho, I do not wish to be a luxurious doll in 
your hands. I have the ambition to be a woman 
useful to someone, to something. In yielding 

L ? 21 


242 QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

to you to-day, I should deceive you as to what I 
intend to do in the future.’’ 

In silence and with a vague look, he strode 
up and down the room, feeling a sort of chilli- 
ness, in spite of the warm June sun. Not only 
would he have given a great deal not to be 
there, hut still more to have been born on the 
other side of the globe. He felt the same dis- 
gust for life as he would have felt for a meal 
composed of indigestible dishes, which he was 
compelled to sit down and eat with a heavy 
stomach. Through cowardice, not through love, 
but in order to escape some minutes of agony, 
he was on the point of saying, “ Do as you 
wish, and let destiny take its course.” What 
checked him above all was the thought of so 
many such hours sure to come like the relapse 
of an incurable disease. 

He must end it : Mademoiselle de Louarn 
waited, pressing the little girl in her arms as 
though to confirm her resolution. Very pale. 
La Houssaye made one last effort, the effect of 
which he did not anticipate on this complicated 
nature, — 

“Promise me to grant what I am going to 
ask, and put your hand in mine. Why wait 
until the autumn to marry me ?” 

Perhaps Antoinette might have yielded to the 
lover, but to let him believe she yielded to the 
husband! The mere idea of this abasement 


IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


243 


stiffened her in her pride. She placed her 
trembling lips on the pale cheeks of the little 
girl and shook her head several times. All 
the refusals in the world would have had less 
force than these silent gestures. Adrien con- 
tinued, — 

‘‘ The moment is a solemn one. "We are 
neither of us children. If we are to part, it will 
probably he ’’ 

Forever,” finished Antoinette ; “ such I think 
is our fate. I feel that the adieu is in this room. 
Adieu, then.” 

For a last time La Houssaye sought in those 
eyes the seduction which he knew only too well. 
Perhaps he wished to find it once more. But 
the eyelids were lowered, and the stern face hid 
Antoinette de Louarn’s secret. 

“ Adieu,” he repeated, bowing low. 

And the door closed upon him. 

Less than half an hour later “ Benee” entered, 
like a whirlwind. The condemned man’s child 
was asleep in the arms of Antoinette, who 
was weeping hitter tears without restraint. 
‘‘Adrien’s hour” had come, but he was no 
longer there to see his victory — and profit by it. 
Mistaking the cause of this despair, the visitor 
roughly questioned her young friend. 

“ Do not cry so much. These people do not 
deserve to be cried over. Would you believe that 
they have refused to give me this child ? They 


244 QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

declare that I am too ‘ bourgeoises The idiots ! 
yes, still more idiots than wicked ! Come, wake 
up, Mignonne, for we are threatened with the 
courts, with the press, with everything. Come, 
the gutters are claiming you. To-morrow you 
will find blood in it, — may you not recognise 
it.” 

“Eenee’s” phrases produced a strange effect 
on Antoinette. They seemed to complete by 
a lugubrious farce the denouement which had 
just broken her heart. So they dared to take 
away from her this unfortunate little creature, 
the cause of her rupture with Adrien, — even 
this wreckage of the disaster was to escape her. 
She dried her tears with a heart-rending desire 
to laugh at herself, and, without other protesta- 
tions, she dressed the child in her modest cloak 
to let her return to the gutter. She even 
seemed to long to see her go. One single ques- 
tion escaped her lips, — 

“ Are you quite sure it is they and not we who 
are idiots ?” 

As the little girl crossed the threshold, docile 
and speechless in her confusion. Mademoiselle 
de Louarn forgot to embrace her, although the 
unfortunate child started on a voyage fated to be 
filled with storms and shame. But at this hour 
Antoinette had the selfishness of the wounded 
man, who is no longer interested in the battle. 
The moment had come to think of her misery. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 245 

Louarn returned for dinner, and was much 
surprised at his daughter’s calmness, whom he 
had left in the morning greatly impressed by 
the impending execution. She made no allusion 
to the refusal of the court for another trial asked 
by the criminal, nor to his child, nor to Adrien. 
Seeing her absorbed and taciturn, her father 
tried to distract her, and spoke of Abbe Esmin- 
jeaud. 

“ What an orator ! Were he known, the great- 
est pulpits of Paris would dispute for him. Un- 
fortunately, you cannot hear him; he preaches 
only for men, — and for the working-men. He 
will probably make many converts among them.’’ 

Suddenly Antoinette seemed greatly interested. 
She asked for some information respecting the 
hours of service, then added, — 

“ To-morrow morning, I will go and see him 
after instruction. Please prepare him for my in- 
tended visit.” 

At an early hour she retired, and it was not 
Louarn’s midnight lamp, the worker into the 
small hours, which was the last to be extin- 
guished that night. 


21 * 


246 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

At the hour named Mademoiselle de Louarn 
reached the plain building of the Christian 
Working-Men’s Home. Introduced at once into 
a very poor study, which served provisionally as 
the sacristy, she heard the vibrating voice of 
the priest finishing his discourse. The retreat 
was held in the lecture-room, which had been 
turned into a chapel. 

When the sermon was over, there was heard 
a dull, grating noise, — several hundred men were 
kneeling. Then they commenced singing. These 
poor people, condemned to labour, intoned to- 
gether after so many centuries of human misery 
the prayer, written by an unhappy king for the 
use of the suffering, “ Miserere !” This plaintive 
melody, quite marked with an Oriental resigna- 
tion, like a monotonous wail, produced a solemn 
impression on Antoinette. She, too, stood in 
need of pity; an immense need, the extent of 
which she could tell no one. Like Faust, disa- 
bused, desperate, she tried to cry, “ God ! God ! 
God !” but in the depths of her soul she found 
only the bare sands left by a reflux ; her relig- 
ious devotion of days gone by had left her. 

Gradually, and with a surprising rapidity, this 
change had been effected. The shore was yet 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 247 

humid, but the beneficent wave which formerly 
rocked the pious Breton was breaking in the 
distance, and was scarcely visible in the horizon. 
Would it return some day as a blest tide to float 
the poor stranded bark ? 

i^o one, however, had told her that she must 
not pray, that she must not believe. Only, 
almost all of those who had played a part in her 
life for the last year ignored her faith, rejected 
it by a polite silence or combated it without 
excitement, with the silent incredulity that one 
accepts a child’s fairy-tale. Martha, “Een4e,” 
Thomassin, many others, had talked in her pres- 
ence of saving the world by science, by devotion, 
by sacrifice, by the harshness of the new law, by 
every means. But in this work of salvation, 
God and the Korrigans * seemed to hold the 
same place. At this moment, Antoinette was 
no longer thinking of liberating the world. It 
was her own heart that she wished to ease, the 
emptiness of which it was necessary to fill at all 
costs. Who would have pity on it? Perhaps 
Abb6 Esminjeaud. To him alone she might 
expose her desolation without fearing a smile, or 
some irrevocable reply, such as Adrien had 
made. As these thoughts were coursing through 
her mind, God’s servant appeared, still wearing 
the preacher’s surplice, and Mademoiselle de 


* Brittany fairies. 


248 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Louarn was embarrassed to say what she had 
come to say. But he, simple and smiling as he 
had been in the salon of Villegarde, advanced 
with outstretched hands. 

“ Dear mademoiselle, why did you come ? I 
intended to go and see you.’^ 

She answered, — 

“ I could not wait. I am drowning. I have 
come to beg of you to save me.” 

Poor child !” said the abb^, making her sit 
down. You are swimming so far from shore, 
and are so badly supported. "What has happened, 
then ?” 

“ All abandon me, all escape from me, every- 
thing breaks beneath my hands, which are torn. 
If you knew ! few women in all their lives have 
suffered as I have done for several months.” 

“ Alas ! you are unacquainted with the suffer- 
ings of others. On the contrary, it seems to me 
that Providence has treated you with special 
favour.” 

“Yes; perhaps so long as I did not realise 
that I had a heart. But one man brusquely 
awakened it. At first, for the Marquis de Ville- 
garde I felt admiration, then, after a few hours, 
enthusiasm ; all was changed in me. Hitherto I 
had been proud of my indifference, and then it 
suddenly seemed to me that there was a supreme 
glory in this weakness, in this revelation of that 
unknown thing, — ^love. I felt as though I had 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 249 

wings ; I soared — or rather I drifted away. How 
delightful ! But when I displayed this meta- 
morphosis, my hero did not even remark his 
conquest. He said to me, ‘ You are mad !’ Ah ! 
how right he was, the wise marquis !” 

The abbe had already heard it from Adrien, 
so he was not surprised by this confession. He 
answered, — 

“You are hard on yourself; harder, no doubt, 
than my noble friend has been. I know him. 
For my part, I could not reproach you for having 
felt some enthusiasm for a man of his worth.’’ 

“Were you a woman, and were it a question 
of your pride, you would be less indulgent. Be 
that as it may, in this first shipwreck there was 
one generous hand extended to me. I repelled 
it at first, hut afterwards accepted the test of 
time.” 

“You were right. Adrien La Houssaye can 
sustain you ; his hand is as loyal as yours. Let 
time calm the agitation of your soul, let happi- 
ness, tenderness ” 

“Happiness!” cried Antoinette. “You do 
not know what a cursed creature I am. Every 
flower that I touch withers at once. I come to 
you as a newly-made widow of yesterday, and it 
cannot be said that I have even been betrothed.” 

She related her rupture with Adrien. At this 
news, Abbe Esminjeaud could not hide his sur- 
prise. But, always quick to find some consola- 


250 -TiV QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

tion for desolate hearts, he said to Mademoiselle 
de Louarn, — 

“ This is infinitely to he regretted, my poor 
child. But you did not love him, according to 
what he has often confided to me ; so you are to 
be but half-pitied.’’ 

“ I did not love him groaned Antoinette, her 
face buried in her hands. 

Both were silent ; the priest then continued in 
a sympathetic voice, — 

“ I pity you now, but all is not lost. Let me 
speak to him, reassure him. Besides, why did 
you frighten him with your ideas? I do not 
understand you.” 

“ Do you imagine that I understand myself? 
When I was away from this man, I felt that I 
was being drawn to him gradually. In his 
presence something like a revolt arose in me. 
It broke out yesterday. I wished to be loved as 
I was before, when he sacrificed his reason, his 
will, his judgment, everything for me. I was 
anxious still more, perhaps, not to let him see 
that he had changed, ruled, subdued me so 
quickly. Ah, our hearts are a strange complica- 
tion, when they are not formed of soft wax, cast 
in the common mould, from whence springs the 
typical mother of a family! I ought not to 
have been born, since I am not fit for anything. 
And you saw how I have wished to do some 
good. I have been so long in quest of my ideal. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL, 


251 


What have I gained by it ? I have been deceived. 
I have helped unworthy beings ; or those whom 
I wished to save have rejected my hand. And, 
in the meanwhile, my friends are blaming me. 
I am all alone now, alone in this world full of 
revolt and hatred, where my eyes see nothing 
but injustice and desperation.” 

“Well, my child, look higher; there will be 
found justice and hope. Pray that God may 
give you peace.” 

“ Ah,” said Antoinette ; “ pray : I cannot do 
so now.” 

She expected a reprimand; but the abbe 
smiled, as if he did not take seriously the words 
he had just heard. 

“ My dear child, for the last quarter of an hour 
you have prayed, and even prayed well. The 
wail of a soul which suffers is the most eloquent 
of prayers.” 

“ Can one pray and doubt ? Oh, if I could 
believe again that there is a happiness, a justice, 
a rest after this life ! If you could but give me 
back the blind hope as powerful as the certainty 
which sustains you.” 

“ My child, it is not I who have robbed you of 
this hope. I might tell you, go and demand it 
back from the malefactors who have despoiled 
your soul without replacing it by anything else, 
but I speak to you otherwise. I am a priest : 
I have the words of Eternal Life; ‘Daughter, 


252 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

have good comfort; thy faith will make thee 
whole.’ ” 

‘•Alas, I am neither blind nor deaf; I see 
only too well. Difficulties, objections, surround 
me.” 

Abbe Esminjeaud smiled no longer; but a 
grave goodness, a strength, a strange sweetness 
shot from his eyes while he looked at this poor 
girl thirsting for an Ideal, for Love, for Faith. 
Suddenly, with a quiet gesture he pointed to the 
confessional which occupied one corner of the 
room. 

“ Go, my child, kneel there,” he said, almost 
in a whisper. 

Greatly astonished, abashed, perhaps, Made- 
moiselle de Louarn replied, — 

“ I did not come to confess my faults. Do you 
then consider me such a great sinner ?” 

“You were not a great sinner, either, when 
your mother for the first time led you to the feet 
of God’s minister. At that moment you made 
no objections; you had faith, holy humility, the 
pious resolution to be good, and — ^you had your 
mother. Hearken to her : she is looking at you 
this very moment; she speaks through my 
mouth. Once more she says to you : ‘ Go, my 
beloved child, kneel ; say that you feel sorry to 
have been naughty, promise to be better. And 
the voice which will answer you, not in reproach, 
be without fear, will be the voice of God, with 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


253 


whom I am, with whom we shall he together for 
all eternity. Go, my dear child, kneel there.’ ” 

Antoinette listened, her head buried in her 
hands, thinking of her mother whom she had 
adored, remembering one morning at Ville- 
garde when she had prayed so well because she 
had seen the eyes of the priest sparkle with the 
same divine ray which exhorted her to-day. 
She felt her heart melt within her, bowed down 
by the weight of an immense fatigue. She felt 
infinite compassion for herself, and she sighed 
aloud, — 

“ My poor mother ! Why did you leave me ?” 

At the same time her tears commenced to 
flow. The abbe said nothing, for he knew that 
a voice more eloquent than his was speaking to 
her at that moment. 

Suddenly, Mademoiselle de Louarn dropped 
her arms, overcome. As though exhausted, she 
rose and with tottering steps went towards the 
confessional. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Adrien had not left Murier for several days, 
or rather, he had only taken long, solitary prome- 
nades, sometimes on foot, sometimes on horse- 
back, during which he had experienced this phe- 
22 


254 


m QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


nomenon, less difficult than philosophers pretend, 
— that of not thinking. To tell the truth, he 
gleaned a pleasure in this beneficent atony, with- 
out hope. Had some one suggested a few months 
before that he could live after a rupture with An- 
toinette, he would have shaken his head in de- 
nial. Now, not only he lived, but yet he had 
come out of this fall broken rather than bruised. 
He was even humiliated by this too quick recov- 
ery, for he felt it was a sign that in reality he 
lacked sentiment. Saved from the shoals, he 
realised that a marriage with Antoinette would 
have been a misery for both. The shipwrecked 
man asked himself if he had not abandoned the 
craft too easily and too soon. However, he did 
not suspect what he had left on this poor drift- 
ing bark. 

With regard to Saint TJrbain the calm was 
still greater. ‘‘ La belle Martha” had freed her- 
self from trouble without either storm or thun- 
der ; at the most she had been stranded in fine 
weather, and there was no danger. Thomassin, 
thrown overboard, the charming vessel continued 
its course, a little inclined, as it happens after the 
cargo has been shifted. The Buddhist professor, 
much more curious to listen to, and decidedly 
more fashionable than Thomassin, possessed two 
serious defects. He was platonic, which limited 
his attraction as a talker, and he was a vegeta- 
rian, which limited his attraction as a guest. 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


255 


In short, Martha was greatly bored in her chateau 
at Brie. Beturning home for dinner a few days 
after they were settled, Honore, usually so dull, 
brought some interesting news : Mademoiselle de 
Louarn had quitted Paris to pass some time with 
an aunt in Brittany; her brother was going to 
marry the daughter of a rich notary, according 
to report, a perfect fright. 

Antoinette had gone away ; that was strange, 
as she had pretended a week before that her 
father required her presence. How much more 
so at the moment of Fernand’s marriage. With 
the feminine instinct for such subjects, Martha 
descried some mystery attaching to a rupture 
interesting to unravel. The following day a 
messenger carried to Murier an invitation for 
the same evening. “Ho full dress,” said the 
note, which bore the stamp of a lotos flower; 
“ there will be no other guest than your- 
self.” 

A year before La Houssaye would have cursed 
this act of courtesy on the part of his neighbour. 
But now he was surprised that he felt quite 
pleased in accepting the invitation. He arrived 
early, and with the first glance at her guest, 
Madame Montgodfroy felt assured that there 
was something new ahead. 

“You have been more than a week at Murier, 
only half a league from us,” she said ; “ yet you 
ceremoniously awaited my invitation to come to 


256 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

Saint Urbain ; but I imagined that you went to 
Paris every evening.” 

“ How like me that is. You who know my 
habits, too.” 

‘‘Do not resort to artifice; your habits are 
pretty well upset. When will you depart under 
the pretext of admiring the sea at Croisic, 
or at one of the sea-resorts in la Loire Inf^ 
rieure ?” 

“ At the same time that you take your depart- 
ure for India, the holy ground of Buddhism.” 

“There is no one waiting for me in India, 
while you are waited for in Brittany.” 

“ I would much like to know by whom ?” 

“ Great heavens, how many mysteries ! In 
truth, this man is even ignorant of the very 
name of Antoinette de Louarn.” 

“ What ! has she gone away ?” 

The cleverest comedian could not have played 
astonishment with such perfection. It was evi- 
dent that Adrien had not yet been told of An- 
toinette’s departure. However, his physiognomy 
did not show the consternation which he really 
felt at this news. Madame Montgodfroy, who 
watched him without losing one of his gestures, 
could not be deceived, and, greatly antonished, 
exclaimed, — 

“ But then — but then !” 

“Then what?” asked La Houssaye, a little 
sharply. “You evidently imagine that Made- 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 257 

moiselle de Louarn keeps me informed of her 
smallest doings.” 

O 

He had preserved his own calm without much 
trouble. Yet this unexpected departure had 
given him a heartache, as invariably happens on 
the occurrence of any untoward event. After 
reflecting for a few seconds, Martha resumed, — 
I certainly imagined that you would inform 
us some day of your engagement to Antoinette.’’ 

‘‘ Well,” said the young man, whom this cross- 
questioning annoyed, “you are mistaken, that 
is all.” 

Montgodfroy appeared with his daughter, and 
La Houssaye was struck with the entire change 
in Louise. There was no need to ask if she had 
been informed of “ her friend’s” departure, still 
less what she thought of it. Her flgure was 
more erect, the strength of hope shone in her 
eyes. She no longer bore her love as an iron 
arrow-head embedded in her flesh. She seemed 
now to shield it, like a lamp the rays of which 
she wished to soften. 

Even her mother, without understanding the 
metamorphosis, was struck by it. She said with 
the blended feelings of maternal pleasure and 
the regret of the woman who feels herself grow- 
ing old, — 

“ Great heavens ! what a grown-up daughter 
I have !” 

Her eyes added, “ What a pretty daughter.” 


258 IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

She could not but be pleased with her work. 
If the fine, distinguished features of Louise re- 
sembled those of her grand-uncle, at least she 
had inherited from her mother the impeccable 
proportions and perfect lines, with the marvel- 
lous wrists and ankles worthy of a Greek statue. 
Adrien, too, noticed all this ; but it was he alone 
who understood the tender veiled radiance which 
shone in her eyes. Ho one present except him- 
self appreciated the cause of this young girl’s 
embellishment. He suddenly remembered that 
Antoinette had gone away, that he was the un- 
happiest of men, that he had bidden adieu to 
love until the grave. The thought saddened 
him for Louise’s sake. He reflected, — 

“Poor little girl! She rejoices too quickly. 
Here she is radiant because the other has gone 
away. What can I do to keep her from believ- 
ing in a miracle, in her miracle ?” 

To begin with, he should have appeared more 
unhappy. Louise watched him as she would 
have watched her doctor, after having escaped 
from a mortal illness. She had expected to find 
in him a sorrow more or less dissembled, and in 
advance she was resigned to suffer in her heart 
because of it. But she saw nothing of the kind. 
Adrien was grave and more taciturn; but the 
poor little one was expert in reading him, and 
there was an absence of that fever which causes 
hidden torture. Above all, without nervousness 


m QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 259 

or acrimony, he endured the presence of a young 
girl, who was not Antoinette. 

When they were seated at table, the approach- 
ing marriage of Fernand de Louarn was dis- 
cussed. The banker said, — 

“I was convinced a long time ago that this 
fellow would end by finding a big sack of 
gold.’’ 

Forgetting herself. Mademoiselle Montgodfroy 
said, with impetuosity, — 

“ So was 1 1” 

“ Indeed ? And why, may I ask?” said Honore, 
his big eyes expressing a strange astonishment. 

Has this young man by chance asked ” 

‘‘ For my hand ? Oh, not quite ! But he un- 
folded his soul to me; he has revealed me its 
treasures. Do you imagine that he is the only 
one ? Indeed, papa, you have much modesty in 
you despite your money-bags. These gentlemen 
call that putting out a feeler.” 

‘‘Upon my word, you find the thing quite 
natural. The devil take these starving fellows, 
who cannot even wait, unless they are Jews, un- 
til our daughters are baptised.” 

“ But, papa, I am in my nineteenth year. If 
my family forget the fact, you cannot make 
others do so.” 

“ Whether they do or not, I beg you to con^ 
tinue your discouraging attitude. Putting out 
feelers, you know, is my business.” 


260 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


Rest easy, papa ; I shall not have much diffi- 
culty in ‘ persevering in my attitude.’ ” 

Saying these words, Louise sighed. She sowed 
tender sighs without counting or realising them, 
just as a millionaire, in whose pocket there is a 
hole, drops louis along the wayside. And a 
certain not over-scrupulous young man picked 
up the gold of this tenderness. 

The day ended gaily by a stroll through the 
park and a chat on the verandah. Honor e was 
immensely amused at the thought that Louise 
had snubbed the handsome Fernand, and his 
manner was visibly changed towards her. 
Treated for the first time as a young lady, 
Louise displayed an unsuspected wit, mingled 
with a playfulness and naive grace, for which 
young Parisians severely brought up are dis- 
tinguished. 

One man alone thus far knew her as she really 
was, — Ferreol de Villegarde. 

As for Madame Montgodfroy, she resigned 
herself bravely to this evolution. She refiected, 
like all mothers who have had great successes, — 

“ My daughter will never be what I was, what 
I will be yet for two or three years.” 

God knows how many months are contained 
in these years of grace preceding the period of 
devoutness and black dresses ! 

La Houssaye returned to Mfirier slightly dazed, 
but on the whole rather contented. Such is gen- 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


261 


erallj the case with those who quit a surgeon after 
a painless operation. Between himself and Made- 
moiselle de Louarn all was over. She had gone 
away. He experienced a disagreeable vertigo, 
something like the hallucination left after chlo- 
roform. IS’o doubt there would be a return of 
the suffering when he awoke to consciousness. 
But he could already analyse, which was a good 
sign; yet the analysis was not sufficient to ex- 
plain in a way satisfactory to himself what his 
love for Antoinette had been. He concluded by 
this mental ejaculation, — 

“ To the devil with love.” 

The lovers who spurn their god, resemble the 
gamblers who tear up their cards : their conver- 
sion must not be taken too seriously. 

Adrien, however, felt some remorse. Had he 
not been a too inflexible judge for Mademoiselle 
de Louarn? In revolving this question in his 
mind. La Houssaye was forgetting to ask him- 
self another. Could he have imagined six months 
before that ten days of separation would have 
left him calm enough to argue with his own 
conscience ? Poor conscience ! it does not often 
approach love except to administer the last Sac- 
raments. 

Be that as it may, Adrien knew of but one 
individual in the world who could reassure him, 
— the Abb6 Esminjeaud, who had so frequently 
listened to his complaints. Kesolved to go and 


262 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

see him, he wrote to announce his visit, hinting 
at the object of it. But the abhe answered very 
briefly, and made him understand that he was in 
duty bound to keep silent. 

“ You know,” he wrote, “ how you can count 
on my friendship. Yet under the circumstances I 
am forced to think that, before being your friend, 
I am a priest — and a confessor. For the rest, as 
friend, priest, and confessor, I can but beg you to 
listen to these words : Rest easy, let God act.’^ 

La Houssaye was greatly astonished ; he never 
dreamed that Antoinette was so devout. But he 
was overcome with lassitude ; he only asked to 
live in peace, to drift without struggle in the 
current of destiny. Being unable to visit Mor- 
ni^re, he deemed it a good thing to go to Saint 
Urbain. There, it was he who was the confessor, 
unknown to the penitent, and it may be surmised 
that he had no wish to refuse her absolution. 

'No doubt it was by chance that he reached 
the Montgodfroys just one hour before dinner, 
and Honors refused to allow him to depart, “ la 
belle Martha” seconding the invitation with cord- 
iality. Louise said nothing, but her eyelids flut- 
tered like butterflies’ wings over a field of corn- 
flowers, while Adrien wished to be begged for in 
good form. This mute appeal from the pretty 
eyes could not fail to be agreeable even to a man 
who had sent love to the devil. Besides, he 
wished to consign himself to his Satanic Majesty 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 263 

without being able to say precisely why, except 
that be bad a vague notion that be had failed in 
life. 

This evening the marriage of Fernand de 
Louarn was a theme of much conversation, 
which the newspapers had announced with a 
heraldic synopsis of the young man’s family. 
Montgodfroy, ignoring the fact that he was 
speaking in the presence of a Renuzart terribly 
mesalliee, thundered against mesalliances, 

“ They are regretted nine times out of ten.” 

The chatelaine retorted rather severely, — 

“Add, please, for the benefit of the audience, 
that you are not the one who has been mesallie.” 

“ Yes, certainly, my dear,” said Montgodfroy. 
“ Only,” with a low bow to his wife, “ I am the 
tenth who has nothing to regret. You will 
think me ridiculous, but, according to my idea, 
a man makes a mesalliance when he takes a wife 
out of his own rank of life. What does the 
audience think of it ?” 

“ Well,” said Adrien, “ I wonder if social rank 
still exists except on silver spoons and on the 
panels of carriages. R’owadays, the great-grand- 
daughters of the knights who fought by the side 
of Saint Louis are becoming republicans, demo- 
crats, levellers, free-thinkers.” 

He stopped short, fiushing up to his eyes, for 
what he had said in thinking of Mademoiselle 
de Louarn applied only too well to the mistress 


264 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

of the house. Fortunately, all understood that 
this tirade was aimed at some one absent. Mont- 
godfroy generously hastened to turn off the 
switch. 

“ The Louarns have invited us to the wedding. 
Personally, I should find it a horrid bore.’’ 

“ I, also,” quickly declared La Houssaye. 

Louise was transported with happiness at these 
words. Oh, the joy that a prospective meeting 
with Mademoiselle de Louarn would bore Adrien ! 
The banker said to his daughter, — 

And you, little one, say nothing. Will you 
blanch to see your old sweetheart swear his alle- 
giance to another ?” 

“Yes,” said she, “I shall blanch — with terror. 
What more terrible than a marriage where love 
counts for nothing ?” 

“Do not speak too hastily, unlucky child. 
Have you not every chance of being married for 
your money ?” 

“ Ho, papa,” said the young girl, with a simple 
expression. “ Should I marry, — which is not at 
all probable, — ^it will be to the man who will marry 
me for myself, as I shall take him for himself.” 

With rather a brusque manner, in which some 
irritation might be detected, Martha gave the 
signal for leaving the table. Alone with her 
husband at the close of the evening, she asked, — 

“ Do you intend to throw Louise at our neigh- 
bour’s head? By dint of talking of marriage 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 265 

before them, you will certainly give them the 
idea.” 

“ Indeed !” said Montgodfroy, his hands in 
his pockets, and his cheeks inflated as if he 
were cogitating a stroke on the Bourse. “ Well, 
my dear, I should ask for nothing better; but 
they neither of them think of such a thing.” 

And leaving his wife thunderstruck by this 
overture, the perspicacious banker went to bed. 


CHAPTER XXL 

Hencefokth a week never passed but Adrien 
dined at the Montgodfroys. In this household 
he counted two friends and one enemy, or rather 
one adversary. Like a worn-out hare repairing 
to its form, Martha was returning to her aristo- 
cratic traditions, which she counted upon brill- 
iantly re-entering through her daughter’s con- 
tracting a great marriage. Louise, heiress of 
Yillegarde, in addition to her father’s wealth, 
was a match fit for a duke, and the woods were 
full of them. The idea of selecting La Hous- 
saye for a son-in-law. What a joke ! 

Being unable to close her doors against the 
persona grata of the head of the family, she had 
found the means of surrounding him with a wall 
M 23 


266 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

of ice. This means consisted in bringing in on 
every occasion the name of Antoinette. Even 
though she was ignorant of the basis of the his- 
tory, she divined that a history existed, or had ex- 
isted. She pictured it according to her own idea 
for the benefit of herself and others. She made 
Adrien pose as a victim, showed that she pitied 
his unmerited rebuff, and let him see that she ad- 
mired his courage, and above all that she cher- 
ished a hope in his favour. These hints, even 
though discreet, put Adrien on pins and needles. 
But how tell her that he did not care to be 
praised, encouraged, or pitied ? He did not dare 
appear as a sick man too quickly cured, which 
would seemingly have made him a man without 
tact. He bowed his head, cursing these gossipers 
who meddled with other people’s afiiiirs. He 
scarcely risked a glance at Louise, who sat silent 
with her eyes bent on her plate, and had become 
almost as miserable as during the unhappiest of 
her days. 

One evening, news was received that Fernand’s 
fiancee had lost an aunt, which would restrict the 
wedding festivities to relations. Louise’s mother 
regarded her neighbour vdth emotion, — 

“ Oh, how happy I am !” 

Exasperated, La Houssaye asked, — 

Was the defunct an enemy of yours ?” 

“It is not of myself that I am thinking, un- 
grateful man ! You yourself said that a certain 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 267 

meeting would have little charm for you un- 
der such circumstances. How nervous you have 
become! Are you not going to travel this 
year V’ 

At the word travel, Louise’s face suddenly 
changed, as a young olive-tree, the leaves of 
which are turned hy the wind. La Houssaye 
answered, — 

“ Ho, madame ; I shall remain at Murier, with 
your permission. My only trip will be to Yille- 
garde and its forests in Hovember.” 

These cold shower-baths to which Martha 
periodically treated him had a result easy to be 
guessed, — a name, which formerly to him was 
the sole name, grew to be distasteful. It is not 
only woman that is synonymous with Frailty, as 
Hamlet has said. 

Adrien nevertheless lived calmly, if not happily ; 
but he soon lost his tranquillity. Martha Mont- 
godfroy could no longer hide from the world that 
she had a grown-up daughter, of whom she had 
resolved to deprive herself as speedily as possible 
in favour of a son-in-law. The opening of the 
hunting season at Saint Urbain was the occasion 
for a species of guests to appear unknown in 
this place, at least for the past several years. 
There were counts and marquises of the oldest 
nobility ; not of large fortunes, perhaps, but quite 
disposed to become rich through the medium of 
the seventh Sacrament. These had been invited 


268 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


by madame, but monsieur’s only guests were 
Adrien and some sportsmen of over fifty. 

Lost sight of in the midst of all these noble- 
men, for whom the pheasants were but a mere 
pretext, and who, furthermore, never dreamed of 
pretending to the contrary, this young bourgeois 
began in a way to suffer. He believed that this 
suffering was caused by a devoted interest in 
Louise, who merited something better than a 
hunter for a dot But after each introduction 
he saw the heiress’s look turn towards him with 
the same tender light. 

“ Well,” he thought, “ she will not be knocked 
down to the highest title, to-day. We are safe 
until next Sunday.” 

So from Sunday to Sunday the marquis’s an- 
nual visit to Saint Hrbain came around without 
any matrimonial result. 

La Houssaye soon discovered that the uncle 
was the confidant of his grandniece, and so he 
might count upon one ally more. But this ally 
greatly embarrassed him, for he was too well in- 
formed about his (Adrien’s) affair of the past. 

Every morning the two friends would meet 
for an early ride, just as on the day that Ville- 
garde had surprised the owner of Murier riding 
Elphin with a drapery. Ferr^ol, during one of 
their rides, referred to this circumstance natu- 
rally as an episode of ancient history. He even 
added, — 


m QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 269 

“Would you like to return to this same time 
of last year V’ 

Somewhat evasively, the young man re- 
plied, — 

“ Last year ! is it possible ? It seems to me it 
has been twelve years instead of twelve months.” 

“ Well, my friend, it is then as though it had 
been twelve years. It was a straw fire, and 
straw burns quickly. When you reach my age, 
you will realise how much fuel of this kind is 
wasted by mankind, even for heating the great 
boiler of progress. Search the ashes which have 
accumulated for the past months in and around 
you. What has become of Elphin ? What has 
become of Thomassin ? of Pierre de Louarn ? of 
‘Renee’? The only one who is alwa^^s to be 
found unchangeable is the Abbe Esminjeaud. 
But it is not straw that he burns. You ought 
to do like him in a less solitary fireplace. You 
are ripe for marriage now.” 

“ Stop !” said La Houssaye ; “ let us talk of 
something else. There is more than a month 
to the fourteenth of November. It is she who 
set that day either to decide or to pronounce 
judgment.” 

“Well,” answered Eerreol, gravely, “I con- 
clude that you do not consider yourself quite 
free. Let us wait until the ashes are cool.” 

Poor ashes of a love too quickly kindled! 
They were cooling from hour to hour. Such 
23 * 


270 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

are these dying firebrands which the sun ex- 
tinguishes by its glaring rays. 

Already certain looks of Adrien had brought 
the spring-tide roses to Louise’s cheeks, but, 
fearing some illusions, she trembled with an- 
guish as much as with hope, and Madame Mont- 
godfroy’s guests filed ofi^ unnoticed by her. Mar- 
tha, however, did not lose courage, and asked her 
uncle to extend some invitations for Saint Hu- 
bert’s day, for which preparations were being 
made. 

The marquis was inexorable, declaring that 
the first house-party was arranged, and that this 
time they would hunt in earnest. In fact, there 
was gathered at the chateau of Yillegarde, for 
the opening of the hunting season, an exclusive 
number of sportsmen keen in every respect; 
that is to say, they were strangers to politics, 
were either married or were ineligible matches, 
except La Houssaye. The sportswomen were 
all married, so needed no escorts, save Louise ; 
and this time Adrien asked for nothing better 
than to be her escort. 

It must be admitted, however, that this young 
man now was only a poor hunter, and for the 
most part could not have told whether the 
hounds were on or off the scent. This distrac- 
tion did not escape Martha’s or Louise’s notice ; 
the latter, far from rejoicing at the fact, was dis- 
mayed. She said to herself, — 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 271 

“ He is thinking of the hold rider of last year.’’ 

At times when she thought of Antoinette’s 
fearlessness, her desire was also to be intrepid. 
But at this Adrien protested even before her 
mother did. 

“ Ho, mademoiselle, no jumping over fences. 
You are not sufficiently steady in your saddle. 
We will ride on this side.” 

Louise was reassured by this tender tyranny, 
and yet, after all, she was often right. The 
smallest incidents pertaining to the hunt re- 
awakened the memories of Antoinette, who ap- 
parently had disappeared from the world. 
What had become of her? Ho doubt Abbe 
Esminjeaud, who was often invited by the mar- 
quis, could have told him ; hut since the receipt 
of a certain letter, Adrien did not dare to ques- 
tion him. Besides, he carried in his own heart 
such a strange confession that the mere sight of 
the confessor intimidated him. 

His nervousness became almost insupportable 
on the fourteenth of Hovember, the limit fixed 
by Mademoiselle de Louarn herself as the date 
on which he was to expect his happiness or un- 
happiness from her hands. As there was no 
hunt, he remained at home all the morning, 
seemingly chilled to the marrow and sunk in a 
heavy sadness as though he were watching a 
dead friend. He pictured himself one year ago, 
alone with Antoinette in the carriage returning 


272 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

from tlie station. He said to himself, “Sup- 
posing I had been accepted ?” and, in his heart, 
he felt a melancholy gratitude towards her who 
had refused him, and she, too, at this same mo- 
ment was probably thinking of this never-to-he 
forgotten conversation which had taken place in 
the forest bathed in mist. 

A knock at the door roused him from his 
stupor. It was the postman with his mail ; in 
it was the following letter : 

“My friend, congratulate me, for I am very 
happy. Do you remember our conversation in 
the little hotel at Meaux? You wondered if 
there was anything that I liked with enthusiasm. 
That day with truth I replied to you in the nega- 
tive; since then I have enjoyed several enthusi- 
asms, to be ended by this philanthropic zeal for 
which you could not pardon me. You were 
right, my friend ; it is not sufficient to love the 
poor and unfortunate : one must love them well, 
and I loved them very badly. I resembled — let 
us once more return to the chasse — a rider who 
would have liked to mount Elphin, admirable 
Elphin, without putting a bit in his mouth. At 
the first fence, what would have become of the 
horse and the rider ? 

“I have found the indispensable bit; it is 
the love of God. I have been shown that it 
is necessary to love Him first, and then my 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


273 


neighbour, because of Him. How I am firm, and 
I am going to depart for the chasse wearing 
another costume, a beautiful white guimpe, a 
grey gown, and a crucifix on my breast. Under- 
stand it well and tell it abroad, for it is a holy 
truth. I am bathed in happiness, and, in this 
joy, I cherish the certainty that you are no 
longer angry with me. 

“ To-morrow when you read these lines I shall 
have taken possession of my little novitiate’s 
cell. Some one whom you know would not 
hear to my entering sooner, saying that I must 
keep my word, even given to one of the world, 
and that until to-day I was not quite free. 
However, I knew well that you would have 
given me my freedom, and I thank God that 
you have done it. My poor friend, how un- 
happy we should have been ! I forewarn you 
that I shall pray much that you may find a good 
wife, or rather that you may marry soon, for she 
has been found, or else I am blind. The news 
of your betrothal will he the last echo from a 
world capable of interesting me. For a wed- 
ding present you will have the blessing of 

“ Your sister soon, your friend always, 

“ Antoinette.” 

The breakfast hell was ringing as Adrien fin- 
ished reading the letter, but he was obliged to 
force himself to eat. Notwithstanding that An- 


274 QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

toinette declared herself the happiest of women, 
he was choked with emotion, while one question, 
despite his efforts to drive it away, recurred per- 
sistently to his mind, — 

‘‘Has this woman who has just died to the 
world never felt love ? has she never even had a 
regret for him who has freed her 

This letter from a devotee, one might almost 
say from a dead woman, exhaled a vague perfume 
of tenderness. Such are the stuffs, relics of the 
past, which come from the Orient, and which 
bring in their folds the dying odour of an in- 
toxicating scent. 

“ My poor Antoinette, you will he a mystery 
for me until the tomb,’’ thought Adrien, whose 
eyes were moist. 

As soon as he could escape he ordered a 
horse to be saddled, and rode through the woods 
during the entire afternoon. Towards dinner- 
time Abbe Esminjeaud suddenly appeared; he 
seemed radiant. 

“ I come,” said he, “ as a messenger from an 
absent friend whom we shall never see again ; 
Mademoiselle de Louarn has deputed me to an- 
nounce her entrance into the convent. She 
wishes you to share her joy, which is complete.” 

There were some exclamations of astonish- 
ment, hut Louise and La Houssaye did not open 
their lips. They even avoided looking at each 
other. 


IN QUEST OF THE WEAL. 


275 


The next day at a very early hour Adrien 
sought the marquis, who was already equipped 
for the hunt. He said to him, — 

Do you remember the talk we had last month ? 
^ The time has come to light a lasting fire on the 
conjugal hearth.’ For some time little by little 
the cherished fiame has been kindled; it will 
never be extinguished. Would you oppose me 
were I to try to gain the hand of your grand- 
niece ?” 

Wh}^ should I oppose you ?” answered Fer- 
reol, in whose eyes there was a frank joy. 

“Because Mademoiselle Montgodfroy might 
marry a grand seigneur. But — there is only one 
man in the world in whom I would place this 
confidence — she is good enough not to perceive 
my shortcomings.” 

“ How the devil do you know that ? Hot from 
her, I suppose ?” 

“ Indeed, no ; but through Barillot. Do you 
think I am crazy ? Allow me then, before you 
send for a keeper, to relate an unknown episode 
of my encounter with this brave fellow.” 

The story of the medallion concluded, La 
Houssaye added, — 

“ Are you willing now to serve as my ambas- 
sador ?” 

Ferreol replied, — 

“ That would be to pilfer my salary, since you 
don’t need one, as can be seen. However, let me 


276 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


give you one piece of advice. Do not rob Louise 
of her belief in a miracle. You see women 
have never too much of the ideal.” 

The marquis then touched the bell, and, as the 
servant entered, he said, — 

“ Tell mademoiselle that I am waiting for her 
to take her cofiee with me before mounting 
our horses.” 

Two minutes later a blond head appeared be- 
tween the doors, looking charming in her riding- 
hat. 

“ Here I am. Ton-ton. What an idea ” 

She stopped brusquely at the sight of Adrien, 
who had turned quite pale, for he had under- 
stood Ferreol’s idea. 

“ If it annoys you, go and breakfast with the 
rest.” 

Oh, no ; this little dinette of three is very 
amusing.” 

To tell the truth, the party of three was re- 
duced to two. The third was in his room com- 
pleting his preparations, leaving his coffee to 
cool. He was singing aloud in a joyous voice 
the most beautiful of fanfares ^ — 

“ Place h I’aimable chatelaine 
Qui seule doit regner ici, 

La voici ” 

Neither Louise nor Adrien had the slightest 
desire to sing, or indeed to eat. Yillegarde, look- 
ing at them in a mirror, thought to himself, — 


IN qUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


277 


“ How they love each other, and yet they are 
as gawky as a pair of village lovers ! Do they 
intend that I shall sing all day V’ 

Fortunately, Louise, who turned her spoon in 
her fingers, let it fall to the fioor. Adrien kneeled 
to pick it up, and, finding the place convenient, 
he remained there, so much the better that he 
had encountered a small trembling hand. A 
second time the spoon fell, hut it remained 
under the table. The fanfare continued in the 
adjoining room. !N’ot having time for long 
phrases, the lover essayed a short one, — 

“ I love you. Will you he mine 
The response was shorter still. Suddenly the 
song ceased. Ferreol regarded the pair, and 
cried out, in a terrifying voice, — 

“And this is what you call a dinette, you 
rascals ?” 

Adrien did not seem intimidated. He rose 
and without saying a word leaped to Villegarde’s 
neck, who embraced him rapturously. Then, 
quite reassured, Louise hid her burning cheeks 
on her uncle’s shoulder, in whose throat at this 
moment was something other ihMi fanfares. 

When he felt that his voice no longer trem- 
bled, Ferreol said, — 

“ My children, the rest concerns me. For the 
moment it is a question of mounting our horses 
and appearing unconcerned. I forewarn you, 
mademoiselle, you look too radiant. Nice be- 
24 


278 QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

haviour for a well-brought up young woman ! 
And supposing your father says no ?” 

“ I am not afraid,” answered Louise ; “ you 
are on our side. Besides, I believe in miracles.” 

Ah !” said Adrien ; “ so do I. Particularly 
in the miracles of love.” 

Ferreol made a pitiable master of the hounds 
that day. Something interested him more than 
the hounds on the wrong scent, or the animal 
breaking cover : it was watching his grandniece. 
She galloped leisurely, her eyes lost in space, in 
an ecstasy. It might be said she was carried 
on wings instead of on the back of an old thor- 
oughbred, — incapable, thank heaven ! of taking 
advantage of the distractions of his rider. She 
dared not turn her head towards Adrien, for he, 
like everybody, even to the whippers-in, watched 
her smallest gesture. Her mother, vaguely sus- 
pecting something, followed her like a shadow. 

At the end of two hours La Houssaye informed 
her they would return to the chateau without 
having taken the stag : a cry escaped her, — 

“What a joy!” 

She did not wish that any created thing should 
know the suffering of death on this day — a red- 
letter day for her in the history of the world — 
when her heart’s desire was so complete. 

Towards evening Montgodfroy appeared, com- 
ing from his office. Peeping from behind the 
blinds, Louise saw her uncle take possession of 


INQUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


279 


him, and drag him to a mysterious corner of 
the park. The conversation was extraordinarily 
short ; when the two men emerged they seemed 
to have grown younger. Almost immediately 
Louise was summoned to her mother’s room, 
where the council met. Martha’s head was 
bent, and she was watching the burning logs 
in the fireplace. Honore said to his daughter, — 

“ What will you do now if I refuse ?” 

Louise let her clasped hands drop, and re- 
plied, — 

‘‘ My dear papa, what would you do if some 
one told you that you had lost all your money, 
and you would be forced to beg the rest of your 
life?” 

am going to lose my daughter; is that 
nothing?” sighed the brave man, whose eyes 
were moistened. 

Louise embraced her father, and kissed her 
mother’s cheeks, who seemed to be turned into 
marble. A moment ago, for the first time per- 
haps, her husband had made her listen to some 
hard truths. As the dinner hour sounded, Fer- 
reol himself started in search of the indispensa- 
ble personage, to this denouement, which was 
short, as was appropriate to happy denouements. 
It was agreed that the engagement should be 
kept secret, until Martha and her daughter 
should return to Saint Urbain. 

The next day Mademoiselle Montgodfroy ac- 


280 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL, 

companied by her governess attended mass at 
Morniere. Her eyes were often raised to the 
medallion which was suspended around the 
neck of the Madonna ; she never suspected that 
it was empty. A noise disturbed her medita- 
tions, Adrien was kneeling near her. Turning 
for the benediction, Abbe Esminjeaud saw the 
couple and thanked God. 

The young people returned arm in arm 
through the narrow paths, which seemed made 
for the occasion. As the duenna was on their 
heels (she knew all, but a duenna is always a 
duenna), they could not speak of what filled their 
hearts. They consoled themselves by making 
plans, the Jiancee declaring that Murier would 
greatly please her as a residence. Adrien ob- 
jected, — 

‘‘We shall seem like misers who are afraid 
of spending money.” 

“ Oh, we will spend it,” afiirmed Louise. “ Do 
you remember the famous theory on the circula- 
tion of Capital ?” 

“Gracious heavens!” exclaimed La Hous- 
saye. “ It is now you who are going to become 
a Socialist !” 

“ But I am one,” she replied, laughing. “ I, 
too, find that society moves badly ; the rich do 
not give enough. In their expenses a large slice 
should be cut from their luxuries and given to 
the poor. Indeed, it is not only our money 


IN QUEST OF THE WEAL. 281 

which we ought to give but our time as well. 
We should daily cross the borders which sepa- 
rate us from the world of suffering. We should 
lament over the poor less, — they feel only too 
keenly their miseries, — but help them more. On 
the mount, Jesus did not lament with them, but 
said, ‘Ye are happy.’ At the same time he 
multiplied the loaves, healed the sick, restored 
the blind. It is deeds, not words, which they 
need. That is my Social doctrine, since it is the 
fashion nowadays to have one. Between our- 
selves, my teacher is Abbe Esminjeaud.” 

“ I shall be your disciple,” promised Adrien. 
“ For your doctrine is the true one.” 

They talked of their home, and the lives they 
would lead. Gradually Louise grew agitated 
and somewhat anxious. It was easy to see she 
wished to broach an embarrassing question. 
Finally, no doubt deeming that her listener was 
well disposed, she asked, — 

“ Of course it is your intention that we shall 
make a wedding tour, is it not ?” 

“ Certainly,” he replied. “ Would you not 
be very glad to see a little of Italy ? Or what 
would you say to a season at Cairo ?” 

She did not notice the singular smile which 
accompanied these words. It was neither to 
Kome nor to Egypt that she wished to go, and 
this astute man knew it well. Quite timidly she 
answered, — 


24 * 


282 IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 

‘‘We will go where you wish, for my greatest 
pleasure will he to obey you. But if you would 
allow me one caprice, — do not be afraid. I will 
not have many,’’ 

“ Indeed, I hope you will, for through them I 
shall derive my greatest happiness. But tell me 
your first.” 

“ I should like to commence by the Pyrenees,” 
declared the young girl. “ I long to see Lourdes.” 
She was quite astonished at the emotion with 
which her betrothed kissed her hand. She an- 
swered, simply, — 

“ If you only knew how happy I am !” 

She felt her heart leap in her young breast, as. 
though ready to fly away on never-tired wings, 
the wings of Love and Faith. And this dual 
enthusiasm could be so well read in her eyes, 
that for a moment the love was jealous of his 
immortal companion. La Houssaye found that 
he had not his due share in the gratitude of this 
young devout. He resolved that she should 
know, at an appropriate time, what very human 
miracle had brought their paths together. He 
promised to himself that she should see some 
day the famous bit of paper 

nevertheless as they were kneeling together 
two months later at the base of the rock from 
whence sprang the holy fountain, Adrien felt 
his jealousy evaporate; happiness was suppress- 


IN QUEST OF THE IDEAL. 


283 


ing in him every other feeling. A few hours 
afterwards, while his young wife was uncoiling 
her blond hair in an adjoining room, he took 
out from his pocket-book this same bit of paper 
which brought back to him so many memories. 
He read it once again and pressed it to his lips, 
and approached a lighted candle. His hand 
trembled a little while destroying this doubly 
precious relic. But he swore to himself from 
this moment to carry the secret to his grave. 
He remembered the words of Ferreol, Women 
have never too much of the Ideal !” 

Some will add, ‘‘And men have never enough.” 


THE END. 


t 


/ 





K 








I i 


I 



* 








• I 


I 


I 




I 






t 


I ^ • 

'' ‘I 

• r. ■ 



,1 






^ ^ V 1 B ^ 

’oo’* > 

d^ ^ * ^0 o ^ 



» . 

\> S ^ A, > 



’ <i.“' ’^%. 

° '''^ 




A "i '^’^''i^.' .0 o^ 






y ^J«pr ^ oV ^ ^ 

v.B A^ K. '^<r ''^ 


vX ^ 

o o' 



a"^' r 

«Li"wr\A ^ ® ^ 

^ '^' LC i., ■» V^ 

‘ ■0<‘'''^^ ^ VIB ^O^x"* A y '' s'*' 

,/ ^ %'^-o 0^ 

tA v^ -oo't 





.a 


A 








V 


^ ^ 0 N C ^ ^ 

t- O 

0 O. t \V' 


^ . V * 

^ X l « 0 , X '*' A 



^ j\* ✓« 

^ ^ ^ A-' 

^/i. ^ ^ ot. <. ■S>:^ A 

ij^ <V 

<, oV -> ' ■^, 

A ' 0 ^ c . ^ A <r ^ ^ « V * fl * 0 ^ K \ 0 ^ c ^ 

*1^ ^ .-i<Sfv <*^ O ' 0^ >y yyT'T^ ^ -..s>isrv 



\ u. ^ 1^ \y o 


xO o 


%o 



Q-. *- 

^81''’* 

.0^ ^ ^ ^ ^ I 


= ^ °^. 




° f( 



■% '» 

A^r 

a\ <s - 

/v ^ ^'C^•^^^\1I A. </• V 

<. o 0 * 

" o5 '^cf' 

^ 1 **• \. ' V' 

C^ V y 

.0 N 0 ^ 

< - A» 

i * C.^ 



•’ "* ® ^ ^ 8 n ‘^ ’ \^ . , , . 'y*-. 

>J- ^ * 0 A V , ^ V *> 

'^xciS ^fCi\W/Ao ^ 

v.xx^^.yy, t: 




V '^' 

V 




* ^v </'. 


■* A >?, ''-•/ A 



X '- 

A .0-''=/ 
S A^% 


V 



r 

k I* 
V • 

A I# » 


■’.i-'r 

r 

A 

« 

i>^ 

I • 4 

' •• 
4^ I 


< I # \ • 

' ♦ -* * ' N. 

• \? . ; V -• 

t >C I n V . i #4 f •/ 

|i » l*> «. 

«*«•*'> |r » •< f f. 

k \ * t * 4’ I 4 % 

• 4. 

<*.4 *».v>^l>l* 

^-4^4. 4vt It 4* 
»,. . t 4 4 . » • V » ^ 

• » ^ ♦r I . 

tL l‘ >' I ' 4 

f 4 4 f t I /. A jl 


-14 4 ft« I /. A A T ;^; 

* » • -w ^ i 4 .. » A A 

\ k fi • ■ A I i.* # • • 

; 7 1 4 k 4 I > I ^ ^ 

^ 14 « I 

n I * A ►' 4 t’ / ^ •' I 

• «li.»*4V«- *«' r».-*: 

Ti . i\ 4.4. •» •; t ^ ^ 

9^ k fr V4 I X ( > 6 

A A V Tk i A > • ^ •; * 


A^ Av It; A> < 

> > •' ' # » • 

A • A A f I 4. 

% I k • t •. ♦ t 

1 1 f & • t > «' ;r • 

\ ) 


a. 4. •»•: t .- a 4 » 

L I X t T t 

M ; A t ~ k 

A » » ^ 4 J • 

At-IS Aki^t 

' t •. ♦ t * t • 

t > *' ;r 4 > I A » ' 

A r > • I ‘ » 4 


« * « I A< A^» 

9 * • % ; • 

I A A > ^ 4 

' % • 4 » 4 », %. 

f . . A . k 4^ 


4 L i4 k ^ ' ♦ 4 • *1 

i. 1 • » * ► f At ‘ * * • 

A C * > A * 4 4 * ^ ' 'i - 

* • . • A • • I e . A . 

I *- • ' 4 4 . 4 / . r r » I 

* ft « i ‘ k A 4 A « . 

\ •f * '4 V 4 » * '1 • \ 4 « ' 

/ - > - • * ^ I • •. ’ ft % . 1 

* A • k I #« ' t 

t, I’ 4 4 

\ ft ^ ft . I f- • f ft 

A A . fA4***r4»^4.'' 

' M ^ » A A ^ i ^ 

A 4 # ft» %* . • - » •* » * ift ' 

4 i:A'/a 4 lift- a 

4 A 1 1 * ' i^ "* 1 4. * . 1 A 
aA.‘4*|4is.%' ft. r 

•t 1 ' A ft I V < .* A ;' I ,. *4 : 

4^A* M I 

ft ^ ^ 1* .* I * j s • 'ft 

V A / - * A A r 4 r. I - I 

/ . * 4 • ' > i J t \ft ft . < » • 

* ' 4 \ A 4 t A ' • 

'?4k4A V 

•th '%.?'» i *.' 

*••• .» 

» . Aft I »• I t ft 

4- A ' > V 4 .s' 5^ • • 

* f I - » -V ■* 
j :>': ' 


i‘;4 

f .* 
•* » 

4 ft ft 

■ :.* 

• 4 • 

' 1 

• A ' 

» t 

« » 

/ .! 
A ft 


k 14 ft t 

ft 1 *. ;'-*#• k 

* % 1 f » 

4' • • A** 1 * i ^ 

> A'ft»9 iftft 

^ ft I e / / A^ r ' 
ft* f ^ > f i • I 

r A . • 5 A-i r V ' 

A 4 r A ft ft 7 A * 1 


ft? 


• * 7 ft 4 

jV V* % 

T A' I 

V ' 4 \ •* 

' t - A f 

ft 1 ^ 5 

1 * f *' ' 

ft « / • r ft 


1 •-'t'lyjft*/ 

i**ft t *• * r A • 

' ?ft ft *%• 4 ft* 

p ft- .J4 ‘ A ^ A •• 

i wv - V 4 

r ft i ^ I i 

i I ,• • . • ' * I 

• ♦ / »' • ft • 

• % •• f f #-** ftV 

^ ^ ^ .1 r ^ ^ 


nj 

LU 


Ln 

Ln 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 











